The Passion of Hate and Love
by Callisto Callispi
Summary: [WIP] It all started when they blew up Gryffindor's quidditch stands and were forced to serve a heinously long detention sentence...together! But it all got interesting thereafter. Hermione & Draco.
1. No Turning Back

**IMPORTANT NOTES** (Updated July 22, 2005) 

**1**. This fiction is written with complete disregard to _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ and now, _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ due to the fact that I started writing this years before Ms. Rowling released it. Forgive me for out-of-date references.   
**2**. In recent light of new policy, I removed all song lyrics. I really did not want to risk the removal of this account or this story. Meh. :(   
**3**. This applies to the whole story: Everything pertaining to Harry Potter in all of my works is copyrighted to J.K. Rowling, Warner Brothers, and everyone else claiming legitimate ownership. 

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**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 1: No Turning Back   
By Callisto Callispi 

The heavy oaken door slid open quietly, rustling only the sparse specks of dust sullying the black stone floor. A blond man emerged soon after and narrowed his eyes, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness of the chamber. A young man, also blond, entered soon afterward. 

Quietly, the two men waited as four figures in black robes approached them from the great, shadowed chair placed in the center of the chamber. The position of the chair had purpose for the figure sitting in it. The chamber was the universe, and he was the center of it. And on the far back wall was the symbol that dictated all of their lives. A giant skull carved out of onyx leered almost serenely; the snake slithering out of its mouth grinned like the devil. 

The older of the two new occupants straightened up with a faint hint of pride coloring his smile. The younger merely rocked back on his heels -- he was too young to know just how terrible and how _powerful_ that symbol was. 

"My lord," said the older man. "My son is now prepared." 

"Welcome, Lucius Malfoy," one of the hooded figures said in greeting. Then his voice became sterner, unyielding. "There is no way to reverse what will happen here. You and your son understand that there is no second chance?" 

Lucius nodded and prepared to answer but the younger beat him to it. 

"Sir, with much respect, we both fully understand." 

A pause followed in regard to the young man's brashness. 

"Fine, then, Master Draco," the cloaked figure finally said. "My lord, the ceremony shall proceed?" He turned hesitantly to face the chair, as if merely glancing upon the figure would sear his eyes. 

"Yesss . . . " 

All living forms in the chamber involuntarily shuddered. That barely audible whisper was the loudest in the chamber. The mere vibrations of the Dark Lord's voice tingled Draco's skin. 

"Y-yes, my Lord," said the figure in cloak, quickly averting his gaze to the other three robed men. "Bring out the staff." 

At once, the three backed into the shadows and simply seemed to disappear. 

"You will take note, Master Draco, that you will be branded with the personal mark of the Dark Lord to assure your worthiness to him and the Cause," said the cloaked man. 

Draco nodded impatiently. 

"It is not the mark of a death eater. You won't be receiving that . . . _yet_," he added for emphasis. "You need not worry about meddlesome professors or students. It will not show on your skin . . . it will just twinge every now and then." 

"Sir," said Lucius angrily, facing the hooded man. "You did not inform us of this . . . this branding!" 

A harsh, raspy laugh shuddered the chamber walls. "Why, Lucius," whispered the figure. "Do you expect me to tell you whenever I choose to do something? Tell me, how have you gained the esteem so that _I_ confide in you for every waking moment of my day? If it offers any comfort, the boy already knew." 

Lucius reverted his eyes back to Draco, who didn't meet his father's gaze. "You knew and didn't inform -- " Lucius started angrily. 

The Dark Lord interrupted before Lucius could finish speaking. "You should be thankful that I even warned you beforehand that this youth would be proclaimed my successor." 

Lucius straightened and tore his gaze from his son. He clenched his shaking hands into fists, just managing to keep the quiver of anger (and was it horror?) out of his voice. "I meant no disrespect, sir. It's just that my son . . . I would have prepared him better than before . . . I apologize, sir." 

"You are not the one who should be complaining. And yet, there your brat stands, silent and willing to serve his lord without complaint." Voldemort briefly appraised Draco then turned back to Lucius, his rasp voice somehow managing to get frostier. "Besides, he shouldn't need any preparations. If he indeed is to be my heir then he must stand this without your foolish training." 

Lucius shifted uncomfortably, leaning all his weight on one foot and then another. 

The dementor-like beings appeared in the room again, each sharing the burden of either carrying a heavy brass stand, a large bowl, a pure-black branding poker, or an ancient scroll. Draco's eyes flickered toward that scroll. The grimy paper, a faded tan in color, looked centuries old. 

Draco silently watched the men prepare the brass stand and place the bowl gingerly on top. The one who held the scroll walked over to the bowl, slowly twirling -- nervously, it seemed -- the poker between his fingers. After settling the poker on the stand, he unrolled the scroll and muttered an incantation in a language that Draco had a hard time placing. It sounded like Old Spanish mixed with a good deal of Latin. Salazar's native language. How vile it sounded in this shadowed chamber. 

As soon as the chamber grew silent once more, the Dark Lord rose from his chair. Immediately, all six men, including Draco, kneeled. 

"To me, Draco." 

"My lord." Draco walked up to the bowl, eyes cast down in respect, and the rest of the figures stood up. 

A candle flickered and went out. 

At once, all the dementor-like figures turned their heads towards the unlit candle that emitted green smoke. Quiet panic whispered through the chamber. The candle wick hissed with a silver, not the usual reddish orange, gleam winking fiendishly. A small wisp of smoke curled, shaping itself into a snake, and slithered in through a blaze of fire. Then wisp of smoke slowly distorted and faded away. 

Draco narrowed his eyes. An enchanted candle? For what would Lord Voldemort want to enchant a candle? 

"Hurry, fools!" urged Voldemort in a raspy voice. 

The man who held the scroll began to utter his spells once more. Lucius looked about uncomfortably, his face unusually pale. 

Fire suddenly erupted in the bowl. The flames were bright and licked at the surrounding darkness, teasing it away. But like a cruel mistress, the fire remained cold and unyielding. The flames of hell could never give off a feeling of warmth. 

"Ah," said Voldemort, slightly hissing. "Fire to secure the vilest, the darkest of promises. This fire does not tell _lies_." 

Draco lost himself in the mesmerizing dance of the flames. 

"Come over here, boy," murmured a dementor look-alike, ushering him in front of the fire. 

Draco slowly walked over, trying to restrain his excitement. He knew what was to come. 

Voldemort then stood and walked towards the fire. Draco cast his eyes down. 

Voldemort laughed. "Do I frighten you, boy?" he asked haughtily. 

Draco's head shot up in outrage. For his sake, he kept his face stone-cold and expressionless, though he couldn't hide the anger sparkling in his eyes. "I . . . am not afraid, my lord," said Draco, struggling to keep his voice even. 

Voldemort laughed. 

Draco bowed his head. "How am I to be afraid of one who cannot even show his face?" he muttered to himself. 

"What was that?" asked Voldemort nastily. 

A tentative silence followed. Draco bit his lip to restrain himself from cursing. Humiliated. He was just humiliated by this revolting creature in front of him. "N-nothing, my lord." 

"My lord," said a soft wispy voice. "The preparations are complete. All we need is your --" 

"Yes, yes, I know!" interrupted Voldemort. He held out one gloved hand that seemed impossibly small -- almost like a child's. "Just give me the dagger." 

Immediately, the figure pulled out the desired weapon from his robes and handed it to Voldemort gingerly. 

Voldemort held the dagger up, tilting his head to admire the blade. Draco, curious, looked up also. The dagger was a handsome one. The bold crest of Slytherin was engraved on the delicate silver of the hilt. The iron blade was polished so that it gleamed magnificently, even in this grimy light. 

"Beautiful piece of art, isn't it, boy?" inquired Voldemort in his voice that seemed much less raspy and deeper. 

Draco bowed his head. "Yes, it is an extraordinary dagger, my lord." 

"It was used by Salazar Slytherin himself," started Voldemort with an unmistakable snarl in his voice, "to slit the throat of three mudbloods who stood up against him." 

Another pause followed. Draco blinked. He had no knowledge that Salazar Slytherin, one of the great Founding Four, had murdered anyone, even if he had a certain dislike for muggle-borns. 

Then without warning, Voldemort used his free hand to pull up the sleeve of his black robe and dug the dagger deeply into his skin. 

For a moment, everyone watched, aghast, as dark red blood streamed heavily down his pallid wrist, soaking his robes. Blood spurted everywhere like a fountain. 

"My lord," wheezed one of the robed figures. 

"I am fine," he managed to sputter out. 

Draco stood, bewildered. "My lord, what --" 

Voldemort held out his bleeding wrist and walked over to the fire. Draco watched, nausea claiming his stomach, as Voldemort tipped his wrist over the fire. Droplets of blood fell, hissing in the flames like an angry parselmouth. 

Drip. 

Drip, drip. 

Slowly, Voldemort pulled his wrist away. 

"_Well_!" he roared, his voice not at all raspy. "Brand the damned boy with my mark before it wears off!" 

"Yes, my lord," said the figures at once. One of them held the brander over the fire as another sprinkled black powder on the head. The black powder liquified and boiled. 

Draco's breathing tightened. He knew that getting the mark of the dark lord would be . . . very painful. And damn, was the mark big! Almost three times the size of his thumb nail! 

"Come, boy," said Voldemort. 

Draco stepped forward without a trace of hesitation. He bowed to Voldemort, who clutched his wrist, trying to cease the blood flow. His hands were soaked with red. 

"I am ready for the mark," said Draco clearly. 

"This mark will go on your back. Take off your cloak and any garments covering your upper back," ordered the figure holding the brander. 

Draco narrowed his eyes and stood without moving for a moment. Then, slowly, he unclasped his cloak and pulled his black turtleneck over his back. He threw those garments behind him. "Anything else?" 

"If you are strong enough to withstand the pain, you may stand. If not, you may kneel." The hooded figure held the brander over the fire one last time and checked to see if the black powder had melted. "You may recall that my companion said that there was no way to reverse the process. If you bungle this opportunity and get branded incorrectly, you will be ostracized throughout the community of the death eaters. So I ask you again, stand or kneel?" 

Draco carefully considered the words. He knew that he would be a fool to ignore this man. But how could he bare to stand and show himself as weak? That he would cower in the face of pain? 

"I will stand," said Draco, trying to hide his proud tone. 

The hooded figure holding the brander nodded. He slowly walked behind Draco almost hesitantly. And without warning, he plunged the head of the scorching brander on Draco's pale, elegant skin. 

White-hot pain. 

Draco clenched his teeth and breathed through his nose, daring not to open his mouth for he feared that if he did, he would scream. He clenched his fists and forced himself to stand even if his knees shook. The agony was too much! He kept his eyes tightly closed with so much force that he could see white dots explode in front of his face. 

He thought that this was the worst it would possibly get until the blasted brander was pressed even more firmly against his back. 

"God . . ." he gasped, his voice strangled and tight. He bit his lip so hard that it started bleeding, but he felt nothing except the excruciating pain of the brander. He didn't even see how Lucius, face paler than marble, started forward to his son and was quickly restrained by three hooded figures. 

At first, Draco didn't know that the brander had finally been removed. Pain pounded through his back and in his brain. He exhaled loudly, not knowing until that moment that he had been holding his breath. Tears of pain rushed up into his eyes, but he kept them within himself. He would not show _any_ weakness, especially in front of his father! 

Draco finally opened his eyes, stumbled slightly, then regained his composure. His left shoulder blade ached agonizingly, as if poisoned teeth tore at his skin. He breathed slowly in and out to catch his breath. 

"Bravo." Voldemort clapped. 

Draco turned to look at him, hate hooding his eyes. Voldemort still bled, but he showed no signs of fatigue. Draco wondered how the Dark Lord was still able to clap with that steaming blood spraying everywhere. 

"Congratulations, Draco. It was indeed safe to assume that I have chosen well. You are a worthy successor. Most boys your age would have screamed." 

Mock rang in his now-clear voice, as if he had just been successful in playing a cruel practical joke. 

"Whether you now like it or not, my blood is now imprinted on your skin. Do you know _why_ I cut my own flesh? For you, boy, for you. Now, as my and Salazar Slytherin's blood flows through your veins and colors your soul, there is no escape. Even if you choose not to become my heir, your destiny is set. Set to be the future Dark Lord! You are pleased now, are you not?" 

Lucius moaned. It was barely audible, but Draco heard it. And yet, Draco did not care. Voldemort still remained in his mind, and the anger and hate were all he could think about. Anger and hate for Voldemort. Cold malice dripped in Voldemort's voice. No respect. No faith. No _trust_. Even after that, Voldemort was wary of Draco. And when a man was wary, he was capable of treachery. Draco stared at Voldemort for a few seconds. 

_Would this sick fuck betray me, even if I am his heir?_ Draco wondered. 

Voldemort cackled shrilly. 

_He would. He made me his heir. Not for me, but for him. But why? Some hidden motive? The bastard! He is using me, and I went along. The bastard._

"You are not pleased? Spoilt rich boy." 

_You think you're using me. And maybe you are. But I am your heir. And I will take over your domain, your power. From right under your nose. Watch me. Half-blooded bastard. Worthless man playing god._

"My lord is mistaken. I am very pleased," Draco managed to spit out. He stared straight into the darkness of Voldemort's hood. "Very pleased. I will not fail you." 

The robe shifted slightly. Amusement tinted the Dark Lord's voice. "I know you won't." 


	2. Back to the Burrow

**NOTE**: Thank you for pointing out the little mistake with the Bulgarian girl's name. I really would have never known, being not of Bulgarian heritage myself. Thanks again, those who pointed out my folly:-) 

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**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 2: Back to the Burrow   
By: Callisto Callispi 

Harry Potter sneezed as he approached the Dursley's fireplace with Arthur Weasley behind him. 

"The Burrow!" he said after he tossed in the glittering Floo Powder, immediately feeling himself spinning as he got sucked into the fireplace. Before he knew it, he was slowing down and smelling the faint aroma of pie baking in the oven. 

He grinned as he saw Ron and Hermione sitting at the Weasley table, talking. Mrs. Weasley was washing dishes. 

"Harry!" squealed Hermione. She got up from the table and hurried over to him. 

"Hey, Harry!" said Ron, smiling enthusiastically. 

"Oh my. I'm sorry, dear; I know Floo Powder is quite messy. How was your summer, Harry? Quite pleasant, I hope?" Molly asked as she hurried over to Harry and brushed the soot off of him. 

"Harry, have you a chance to get your school supplies yet?" Hermione asked. 

Harry almost missed Hermione's question as a plate of hot sausages had appeared in front of him. "Not yet, Hermione." 

WHOOSH! 

"Hi, Dad," said Ron. 

Molly sighed as a fresh cloud of dust carpeted the kitchen floor. She approached her husband and dusted him off as well. 

"Is that pie, I smell, Molly?" asked Arthur, sniffing appreciatively. 

"Yes, dear. I do hope that the soot doesn't muss the furniture too much." Then her dusting arm faltered. She glanced at the three reunited friends. The jolly twinkle in her eyes vanished completely. "What was your business with Cornelius Fudge, Arthur? Please say he is still cooperating with Dumbledore." 

Arthur sighed and put his face in his hands for a minute. "Not now, Molly. Please, the children . . ." 

Molly glanced towards the laughing trio. "They aren't going to be children forever, Arthur. They will have to know." Her eyes narrowed. "That Malfoy child -- Draco was it? -- barely seventeen, and already proclaimed . . ." 

"Please, Molly," pleaded Arthur quietly. 

"This wasn't meant to be kept silent forever, you know. Dumbledore -- he has spies. I cannot bear to think about the horrible future ahead of that young man . . ." 

"Molly, I will tell the children when I think they are ready to know," Arthur replied firmly. 

Molly heaved a sigh. She checked on the pie in the oven. "All right, Arthur. All right." 

"Mum! Is the pie ready yet?" called Ron. 

"It won't be, young man, if you keep rushing it. It's not good to pressure the dough," snapped Molly. "I don't know why Fred and Ginny had to choose Quik-Rise flour. Don't they know that _Homgreen's_ is the best for pressure cooking?" 

Harry looked up. "Mrs. Weasley, where are the twins and Ginny? Mr. Weasley said that they would be here . . ." 

"Well, the twins went to Diagon Alley with Ginny. They were more eager to get their products to the joke shop than go into Madam Malkin's shop, I think," said Molly disapprovingly. 

"Mum hoped that the twins would work for the Ministry, regardless of Fudge, but they continued to produce fake wands and the lot," Ron whispered to Harry. 

"They went to help pick out her new dress robes. She _will_ be in sixth year," Molly announced proudly. "And sixth years are to go to the Yule Ball this year without older partners, and last two years there wasn't a Yule Ball . . ." Three heads snapped up at that remark, and Mrs. Weasley blushed furiously. "Oh my, did I say that out loud? I -- oh you were all bound to find out sooner or later," she added briskly. 

"Mum, is that true? _Another_ Yule Ball?" Ron demanded. 

"No -- yes. I promised Dumbledore I'd keep it a secret but in all the excitement with Harry visiting, and my Ginny growing up, oh it's was just . . ." She beamed. "You won't tell your friends, though, will you?" 

The three shook their heads quickly. Molly smiled. 

Hermione stifled a giggle. "But now how am I going to get a partner?" she wondered jokingly. 

Mrs. Weasley glanced at Hermione and took a bite of the pie. "Ron, why don't you go with Hermione?" 

"_WHAT_!" Ron demanded, then coughed, choking on a piece of pie. "With _Hermione_?" 

"Now, Molly," Arthur started, but his wife ignored him and continued on. 

"Why not?" she asked sternly. "Hermione is such a pretty girl. Why, I bet she will be the belle of the ball." 

Now it was Hermione's turn to blush, though Harry thought she seemed a bit hurt at Ron's spontaneous refusal to take her. "Don't worry, Ron. I wasn't planning on going to the ball with you, anyway." She grinned good-naturedly and poked her pie around a bit. 

"_Now_ you did it Ron," said Molly. "You lost yourself a perfectly nice partner!" 

Arthur chuckled. "Now, now, Molly. Let's leave the children alone to decide their own partners." 

The afternoon passed by. The twins and Ginny didn't show up until late evening. With all the excitement buzzing about, the remaining weeks of the summer seemed to go by in a flash. The twins left the trio and Ginny to check the sales of their products before they went to the markets. 

Their products were a huge success. They weren't bathing in galleons, but, as Fred assured, as soon as the rumors regarding Voldemort's rise blew over, their sales would increase. And then they spoke with Harry dreamily, telling him all of the things they would buy. For Ron, more new dress robes. For Ginny, new texts and barrettes and robes and cosmetics. Even Harry's gift of the galleons he won at the end of the Tri-Wizard tournament failed to satisfy even half their desires for material items for both themselves and their siblings. 

The weekends went by quickly -- quicker than the kids had hoped and soon they were off to Diagon Alley. Fred and George headed to a minor joke shop where they sold their products and left Ginny, Harry, Hermione, and Ron to wander around. They finished their school shopping the hour before. 

"Say, Hermione, why don't we go to that pet clinic?" asked Ron. 

"For what?" Hermione asked. 

"You could trade in that Crook-whatever for a _real_ owl." 

"I thought you _liked_ Crookshanks!" 

"I never said I did. Especially after that nasty bugger scratched up my favorite pair of . . . of . . ." 

Hermione waited for a response. Getting none, she finally demanded, "What is it?" Hermione then turned to see what Ron ogled at. "Really, Ron!" 

There it was. The _Vortex Version 3000: The Firebolt of the Future_, the latest broomstick to ever be released. Ron's mouth was open like a fish. 

Hermione, thoroughly annoyed, turned to Harry to see if there was any sense in him. Judging by his dreamy smile, there wasn't. 

"You _boys_!" Ginny said. 

Just as Ginny was about to push Ron over, the shop to the Quidditch Supplies store opened. Their expressions soured quickly as Draco Malfoy walked out. Though originally seeming to worry over something, Draco's lips tugged up in a smirk as he regarded the four. 

"Well, well, Potter and two Weasleys." He then spotted Hermione. His eyes narrowed. "And _you_." 

Hermione glared back at Draco. 

"Enjoying summer? I'm surprised to see you here, Weasley. Of course, that expression on your face is as expected. Really, haven't you aything better to do than to ogle over something completely out of your league?" drawled Draco. His pale eyes lazily roamed over Hermione. "The company you keep, Potter. A mudblood and a clay-eating excuse for a wizard." 

"Oh, bugger off, Malfoy," Hermione replied tartly. "You're so spoilt. Not everyone has everything _handed_ to them on a silver platter -- including a quidditch position and a new broom that you completely did not deserve -- because of family money." 

Ron snickered. 

Draco's face twisted more. Then, after a pause, he relaxed, smirking. He shifted his gaze over to Hermione. "You've grown up, Granger," said Draco. He studied her reddening cheeks then glanced at Ron. "Fight your own battles from now on, Weasley. There will be times when Granger's sharp tongue won't be available to save you." 

Ron laughed. "Get off your high horse. Getting whipped in the arse by Hermione. Pathetic." 

"Better than being whipped by her mere presence," Draco snarled back with a nasty little smile playing on his lips. 

Ron's face turned red -- but from anger or embarrassment, his friends could not tell. 

"Malfoy, why don't you _run_ before Ron decides to kill you?" said Hermione smoothly. 

Draco sneered at her then turned around. "Why, standing up for me? Protecting me? I thank you, mudblood." He walked off. 

Ron looked as if he were about to chase after Draco, and Ginny noticed. 

"Come on, Ron. Ignore Malfoy. He's just a spoiled rot," said Ginny, adjusting her shopping bags uneasily. 

"Yes. Come on, Ron," Hermione said softly, pulling on his arm. "Let's go where there aren't as many rats." 

**X**

Draco Malfoy laughed quietly, opening the alley way wall with a flick of his wand. What fun, taunting the infamous trio: Potter's fame, Weasley's poverty, and Granger's heritage. The wall opened, and he stepped into a dark passageway. He cringed. A stink pervaded the air. 

"Lumos," said Draco. The tip of his wand lit up. His hair seemed to glow. His black robes rustled behind him. "Arrhg!" Draco settled his hand on his left shoulder blade, wincing. Heat radiated from the mark. The damned thing had been throbbing all day, and it didn't seem to want to give him a break. 

Draco stopped for a minute and breathed raggedly. His ears ached. The _drip! drip!_ of the sewers sounded like waterfalls. It was happening again. The mark. He gripped his forehead, quickly breaking into a cold sweat. This happened frequently -- ever since he received the mark. He placed a hand on the wall to steady himself. And his shoulder -- damn did it throb! 

For a few minutes, Draco remained still against the wall. Slowly, the pain began to fade away. Draco breathed deeply in and out and continued walking, slowly regaining his composure. 

How would he ever attend the ball at the Malfoy manor in his disposition? Hopefully, it wouldn't start to ache while he had that supposedly beautiful young woman from Bulgaria in his arms during the minuet. Draco was actually looking forward to seeing her as he heard rumors of her beauty in Bulgaria. 

Draco looked around. "Now, I passed three passageways, turn left on the fourth. Walk fifty paces, and with a spell, I should end up back in my room." 

He started to count his paces. Though the place was smelly, dark, and filled with rats, this passageway was very useful. He had discovered it more than ten years before. When his father released his anger on him or his mother ordered him to study, he escaped through here. He uncovered all of its secrets in two years. And there were many, many ways to get lost. 

In a few minutes, he came upon another wall. Draco recited a spell and the wall vanished. Draco stepped in. 

Draco looked around. Indeed, he was in his room, no doubt. The wall he had once walked through was a mere tapestry. On his bed, Draco spotted some dress robes, courtesy of his mother no doubt. He walked over to them and unfolded them. The dark gray robes, probably of some expensive silver satin, weren't designed for regular dress. Attached to it was a note pinned on with a bobby pin. Draco glanced curiously at it and saw his mother's wispy, curvy handwriting. 

_Draco,   
It appears that the young lady you were to escort is delayed in getting here.   
I wish you to meet her at six 'o clock at the _British Magical Transportation   
Association_, section: carriage. Her number is 42089 under Dimitrova. Her   
uncle is already here. Ask Cromwell for assistance in the carriage.   
DO NOT BE LATE! _

Your Mother 

Draco raised an eyebrow. He was no chauffeur. Why not have one of the servants do it? He then remembered the servants were all preparing for the ball. He looked at the clock near his bed. It was 5:15 already. Draco cursed once more, grabbed his cloak, and headed out to meet this girl. 

He went out to seek Cromwell, the carriage driver. When he found him, the old man already had the horses hitched and was ready to go. Draco hopped on and Cromwell headed toward the BMTA. When they got there, he instructed to wait outside and went into the station to fetch the girl. 

Draco found the carriage section 42089 and sat on a bench, scowling because he hated doing servant's work, and waited for the girl. 

"Is this seat taken?" he heard a soft voice behind him. 

Not even turning around, he muttered, "No. Go ahead." 

A flowery aroma enveloped his senses as the newcomer sat next to him. 

"Thank you," said the person. It was a girl. 

Draco turned to look at her and when he did, he pulled back quickly, his eyes wide with shock. "_Granger_?" he sputtered. 

The girl looked at him also. Hermione Granger. 

"M-Malfoy?" she shrieked, attracting the attention of some nearby witches and wizards. She jumped up from the seat as if the person next to her were diseased. "What are you . . . aren't you ruining my day perfectly enough?" she demanded. 

Draco rolled his eyes and looked away from Hermione. "And aren't you ruining mine enough?" challenged Draco. "Really, can't a wizard wait for his escort without some _muggle-born_ witch rotting the very air?" 

To his surprise, she ignored the barb and instead answered incredulously, "So your father had to buy you a date all the way from Bulgaria because you couldn't get one on your own?" She actually sounded as if she believed the ridiculous idea. 

Draco got up and faced her with narrowed eyes. "I didn't ask for your insinuations," he snarled. He turned away and stood a distance from Hermione. She wore muggle clothing -- pants of blue denim and a red shirt. She pinned her hair up in a messy bun, as if she had to get ready in five minutes. "Why are you here, then, Granger? Not stalking me, I hope." 

She snorted. "Don't waste your breath, Malfoy. I just got home and am waiting for an aunt who was vacationing in Bulgaria for the summer. I don't think that would mean much to you though, Malfoy?" 

"Your right, Granger; it doesn't strike up my interest at all." And he was about to add something snide until a voice on the intercom announced, "Section 42355 has arrived." 

Hermione looked at her slip, and smile brightly. She spared Draco one last look then ran off. 

Draco stood alone, staring at the fleeting form of Hermione. His shoulder blade began to ache once more but thankfully faded away. Indeed Hermione Granger had grown up. She was now at least taller, and her teeth were now normal and perfect, quite the contrary in their first year. And the biggest thing was her hair -- still wavy and frizzy at times but no where near the fluff ball it had once been. It still wasn't to Draco's liking though. The most impressive version of Hermione was during their fourth year at the Yule Ball. She was beautiful. 

"Sections 42089 have arrived." 

Draco got up and searched for anything with the name 'Dimitrova' on it. Many carriages had pulled up. There were frugal ones, lavish and expensive ones, and the middle class ones. The girl had to be in an expensive one. 

He then spotted a black carriage, with the name 'Dimitrova' engraved in gold at the side. He pushed his way through the crowd and to the carriage. He got to it and spoke to the driver of the carriage, shaking his hand politely. He pat the black horses then instructed the footman to open the door to the carriage. 

Draco's breath caught in his throat as he saw who got out. She was an elegant lady of sixteen or maybe seventeen but seemed as sophisticated as a woman of thirty. Her dark wavy hair framed her oval face. An elegant black cloak glided over her curving body, and, as Draco learned afterwards, her dress was also black, revealing very daring portions of her heavenly body. 

Her dark brown eyes sparkled. Her full pink lips curved in a stimulating smile. She greeted him by saying a hello with a charming Bulgarian accent, and Draco kissed her hand in a very gentlemanly manner. She nodded off the footman and driver and walked side-by-side with Draco towards his carriage. 

Draco, mesmerized by the Bulgarian girl's beauty, forced himself to look away for the sake of decency. And when he did, he saw Hermione Granger walking hand in hand with the woman who was probably her aunt. She didn't seem to notice Draco for she was deeply engrossed in a conversation with her aunt. Her happiness made Draco smile a bit, though she was his arch rival. He couldn't help it. It surprised him. 

"Is that your girlfriend?" asked the Bulgarian girl. Her voice dripped of scorn as she stared in disgust at Hermione. 

Draco chuckled a bit. "My dear lady, I hope you aren't jealous. And to answer your question, no. she's not my girlfriend. I don't have one at the moment." He deliberately threw that bit of information in. 

When they arrived at the carriage, Draco opened the door for the girl, whose name turned out to be Maria Dimitrova. He informed Maria that her suitcases and bags had already arrived at the manor. Maria sat next to Draco, keeping a modest distance from him though giving him a few looks here and there. 

When they arrived at the manor, Narcissa and her maids were about Maria, ushering her inside in the most pleasant manner. Draco was forced to be away from Maria until the ball. Narcissa informed Draco that Lucius was meaning to speak with him, but what about, his mother wouldn't say. 

Draco took his good time getting to the study where his father supposedly was. He stepped in and saw his father perusing a document on his desk. Lucius didn't even notice anyone coming in. 

Draco stepped inside and examined his father for a minute. He then rapped his knuckles on the book shelves next to him. "Father, you wanted to see me?" he asked. 

Lucius's head shot up. He spotted Draco and he motioned him closer over. Draco casually sat down in front of his father's desk. 

"I hope that Miss Dimitrova's trip here to the manor was easeful?" said Lucius. 

"Yes," Draco curtly replied. 

"Good," said Lucius. "She is an attractive young women." 

Draco pondered how to answer this. His father was very articulate with words and in a battle of the tongue, Draco was sure that he would lose. "She is a personable girl, if that's what you mean," answered Draco. 

"Do not toy with me, Draco, for I am in a very foul disposition," warned his father. 

"What do you mean, Father? I am merely speaking the truth." 

"I mean it, Draco. You're just an escort for Maria. You know she's already engaged to a relative of hers, and I forbid you to do anything that would put the Malfoy name to shame. A huge deal is on the line, and I will not have you keep me in fear that my business will go awry for the whole evening because I am worrying over your behavior. I will not have you dishonor the Malfoy name with some meaningless scandal." 

Draco smirked knowingly. "You're saying that I should not attempt to seduce her?" Draco cursed the fact that his father knew him so well. 

"Exactly," said Lucius. "Promise me, Draco. And if you break your promise, there will be dire consequences." 

Draco's happiness suddenly deflated a great deal. "Yes sir, I promise," he said slumping in his chair. 

Lucius looked much relieved. "Good. You may go now." 

Draco grudgingly got up and left, cursing inaudibly. 

**X**

The ball had begun. Draco grinned to himself as he looked in the mirror. 

"Oh, Master Draco, what lucky lady's heart have you taken this evening?" questioned the mirror. 

"A woman from Bulgaria. Maria Dimitrova," said Draco smugly, smoothing down his hair. 

"Lucky woman," said the mirror wistfully. 

"I must be off," said he as he bowed slightly and left the room. He walked down the corridors and made his way down to the entrance room, looking particularly handsome. Draco pushed open the doors and grinned at what he saw. Elegant black marble streaked with thin veins of gold covered the floor of the huge ball room. Handsome statues of angels and saints decorated the walls. Ten chandeliers, twinkling prismatically and decorated with diamonds, provided an ample golden wash of light. _This_ was the Malfoy way of life. 

Handsome wizards of prominence and their beautiful ladies danced on the marble floor to the music of a violin symphony. Draco recognized some of them. He looked around, hoping to find his own beautiful lady, Maria, but he could not. Frowning, he walked down the staircase. As soon as he descended, many people crowded around him. 

"Young Master Draco!" said one wizard with a particularly sharp nose. A Wellington. He had dark hair and thin lips that always curved in the most arrogant way, but otherwise, he was considered very handsome in the wizarding world. And he was a very popular man. Mostly due to his status as a duke. 

Draco smiled politely. "Your Grace." 

He bowed and excused himself without even saying a word after. Draco knew that was quite rude, but he was anxious to find his lady. He pushed his way through the crowds hoping to catch a glimpse of Maria somewhere, but he couldn't find her. 

Just then, he smelled heavy perfume and felt a light hand tapping his shoulder. He whipped around and smiled obligingly as he looked down at the beautiful Maria. She smiled back confidently, showing glimpses of her white teeth. Her tongue ran over her lips in the most arousing way. 

"Will you please me with this dance, Draco?" whispered Maria in Draco's ear. 

Draco happily took her in his arms and away they went, dancing. Maria's black skirts swirled around her. Maria clung closer to him, and her hand slowly slid down to Draco's chest. 

In response, Draco wrapped a tighter arm around his lady, pulling her close. He felt drugged. 

**X**

Meanwhile, in London, Hermione was having the most wonderful dinner with her aunt and parents. Though her aunt and Hermione weren't blood-related at all -- her aunt being her mother's brother's wife -- Hermione and parents got along well enough with her. Her aunt was like a busy bee, and Hermione rarely had a chance to sit with her. Because of some sort of an accident that killed her husband, her aunt was widow. She wouldn't say what killed her husband and insisted on traveling all around the globe. Perhaps it was to escape the presence of her husband's spirit. 

Laughter rattled the table as Hermione's aunt finished her story about a man from Siberia. 

"Oh Isabelle, how was Bulgaria?" asked Hermione's mother. 

Isabelle popped some chicken in her mouth and answered. "Oh, very nice but very dry. I don't think I can ever get accustomed to Bulgarian food. Mind you, I don't think I can get accustomed to any foreign food for that matter." She chewed and swallowed then turned her attention to Hermione. "I heard that you were announced a prefect for the Gryffindor House last year." 

Hermione grinned and looked down at her food. 

"Yes," thundered her father proudly. "And from what I hear from the Weasley's, Hermione has a good chance of being the Head Girl this year." 

"Oh, Dad," said Hermione smiling, sheepish. 

"Only problem is," said Hermione's father, "that we don't have anyone to brag to about. Surely not to muggles like ourselves wandering the streets of London." He chuckled and took a swig of his wine. 

"Well, Hermione, you lucky girl," her aunt cooed. "I am very proud of you. And if we had anymore witches in the family but you and I, they would be proud of you as I am." 

Hermione smiled brightly and thanked her for the compliment. "I can't believe it though: only three more days of vacation left." 

"Yes time flies by," said Isabelle. "Tell me, does Minerva McGonagall still teach there?" 

Hermione nodded, taking a sip of her juice. 

"Minerva McGonagall," said Hermione's mother. "She's the head professor your house and teaches . . . tranfigurment or something of the sort?" 

Hermione nodded. "Transfiguration," she corrected. "Yeah, she does mum. Very strict." 

Isabelle nodded. "I've heard. I never got to know Minerva very well. I attended Beauxbatons, not Hogwarts." 

The rest of the evening went well. Hermione was soon in her bed as the adults sat down in the lounge over glasses of wine. She was about to turn off the lights as the door to her bedroom opened. 

"Hermione," whispered a figure at the door. 

"Aunt Isabelle? What is it?" asked Hermione, sitting up from her bed. 

Isabelle smiled and walked towards Hermione with something behind her back. "I wanted to give this to you personally. For your seventeenth birthday." Isabelle revealed what was behind her back and Hermione smiled. It was a package wrapped beautifully with gold wrapping paper and red satin bow. 

"I hope I got the colors right -- they are the Gryffindor colors aren't they?" asked Isabelle eagerly. 

"Oh, Aunt Isabelle. You _really_ shouldn't have. And my birthday is way off . . . " Hermione cut herself off as her aunt thrust the package into her hands. 

"Now, darling, open it when I leave. I must be on my way back to Wales to attend to business. You will appreciate the gift, I hope, since it belonged to my Grandmother and she passed it down to my mum." 

Hermione smiled a bit sadly. She understood why Isabelle had given her the package. Her aunt had no daughter of her own as her husband died and Isabelle refused to re-marry. 

"Thank you." Hermione leaned over and kissed her aunt on the cheek. 

Isabelle got up. "I must take my leave. Good-bye, darling. Keep studying, and inform me as soon as you get your Head Girl notification." 

Isabelle left the room with a last glance at Hermione. 

Hermione looked at the small package in her hands. It was rectangular, more wide than high. It was heavy. She turned her table lamp on and carefully tore open the package, making the sure the wrapping paper had very little creases or rips in it. She took off the bow and placed it gently on her bed. She then lifted the cover of the white box and gasped in surprise at what she saw. 

Inside was a chalice made of platinum, embroidered with emerald-shaped lilies. The top was wide and the brim coated with shiny gold. The holder was unusually thick. 

Hermione gazed at the piece of treasure, wide-eyed, turning it over, up and down. She placed her fingers gently at the sides and looked under the chalice. She smiled in delight, hardly believing that such a treasure was hers. It was a full five minutes before she noticed a small message engraved of the bottom of the chalice. 

She curiously eyed it and read what it said. 

_Thy wishes seen naught,   
Thy desires wished naught;   
Yet seek 'ere bought,   
As he be direly sought._

Thunder crashed just after she finished reading the stanza. Rain started pouring down heavily outside. 

**X**

The blankets rustled. The two bodies, entwined with each other, shifted the surface of the sheets. They moaned quietly in fear of being heard and caught. The thunder crashed once more, and the girl bit back a scream as he penetrated her again. And again. But it could have been raining fireballs outside, and they would not have noticed. They were so engulfed in their own passions and desires that the only things on their minds were each other. 

"Draco," a feminine voice whispered. 

"By god," moaned Draco. "Stay still, love -- just . . . stay . . ." 

The figures in the blankets arched up together then slowly went back down. 

"Draco," said the girl in between gasps after her climax. 

Draco didn't answer as he just silenced the girl with a punishing kiss and laid her head down onto his bare chest. He smirked as he felt her moist lips against his skin. He relished in his triumph not only over this beauty but also over his father. Lucius could hold nothing against him. After all, he said not to seduce her, not the other way around. Draco kept his end of the promise. In the end, it was he who had been willingly seduced as she dragged him to his bedroom and started to kiss him. 

"Good night Maria," he murmured softly with a wicked smile that would have chilled her if she had seen it. But instead, she closed her eyes and smiled peacefully, kissing his smooth chest once more with her heated lips. 

**X**

The first of September finally arrived, and all Hogwarts students were at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters saying their good-byes and giving their kisses to family members and friends. 

Truly, it was a happy day for Hermione. She had just gotten notice that she was made Head Girl. She wanted to whoop with happiness, even as the other Head Girl hopefuls offered her their congratulations. Hermione grinned. She _knew_ she'd be Head Girl. She could feel it in her bones. 

"Bye, Mummy, Daddy," she said as she kissed each of them on the cheek. 

"Hermione," said her mother, releasing Hermione from her embrace. "Have fun this year." 

After a few more minutes, Hermione finally got on the train and met with Harry and Ron. They searched for their own compartments on the train. 

After a few hours of talking, laughing, and more talking, the Hogwarts castle finally came into view. Hermione held her breath and finally exhaled. She missed seeing the castle and waking up every morning in it. How she could bear being away after her graduation, she did not know. 

"Well, Head Girl," said Harry charmingly. He extended an arm out to Hermione. "Could I have the pleasure of escorting you off the train?" 

Hermione laughed and grasped his arm and surprisingly, Ron's. "You _both_ can. She stepped off and looked around. She breathed in the fresh air, smelling the lake, the aroma of wonderful foods from the castle kitchens, and everything else that made her know she was at the castle. 

"My home," she whispered with a small smile. "Our home." She looked around to see familiar faces grinning at each other. 

She looked up and saw the brightly lit windows. It was wonderful to be back. 


	3. A Qudditch Misfortune

**Author's Notes**: This fiction will feature no reference to J.K. Rowling's fifth and sixth books. And there will be most likely no reference to Sirius . . . because bringing him back alive would be sort of weird. 

* * *

**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 3: A Quidditch Misfortune   
By: Callisto Callispi 

Things began to settle down a bit. Students were officially back in Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thankfully, despite rumors, there were no signs of Voldemort. Hopefully, there wouldn't be. 

_Hopefully_. 

November finally arrived with traces of October lingering, and the Yule Ball was only a month away. The school buzzed with excitement. Dumbledore had given the announcement at the beginning of the school term so everybody had a chance to get their robes. He also proudly announced (although his mouth seemed unwilling to announce anything) that a new professor for Defense Against Dark Arts had been appointed. He called himself Rames but preferred the kids to call him Professor Untsery. He seemed to know what he was doing. It was just that he was a very private, very unsociable man in the sense that he fancied himself as the bastard brother of the current king of England. Even Hermione wondered how this man escaped the lunatic asylum at times. 

But such things escaped her mind easily now. Since she was made Head Girl, there was only one thing that she truly cared about: her marks. 

And studying was what she did this day. The whole school was put off because of a meeting with the staff. Hermione took advantage of that and hurried up to her room with her books and papers and quills to do homework. 

In her Head Girl room, Hermione yawned and closed the book that, just a few minutes ago, she was so deeply engrossed in. For the first time in her life, she didn't want to read. She couldn't anyway. Her eyes, blurry and clouded, just couldn't make out the tiny text on the ancient pages. 

She closed the big book, carefully marking the spot where she left off and closed her eyes for a moment. She would relish this peace to her fullest extent, Hermione thought, since there was hardly any time for her to relax like this. 

Her duties as head girl, her studies, and her dedication to six NEWT classes dominated her life. She sometimes felt as if she had no time to even sleep. 

"Come in," Hermione called as she heard someone knocking on her door. 

A tall girl with fiery red hair walked in. 

"Hello, Ginny." 

Ginny walked over to Hermione's bed and sat down at the edge of it, her face solemn. "Hermione, is this what you plan to do all of your seventh year?" 

Hermione sat up. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean all this school work." 

Hermione shrugged. "Might I remind you that in order to pass Hogwarts, completing school work is a necessity?" 

Ginny grasped Hermione by the shoulders and locked her emerald eyes with the older girl's darker ones. "Finishing your work is fine, but really," Ginny insisted, grabbing a scroll, "this assignment is not due for two days, if the date is correct!" 

"You know I have my meetings, Ginny," Hermione muttered. "And that new NEWT class in Ancient Runes -- it's slaughtering me." 

"So drop Runes if it's draining you!" Ginny cried, exasperated. 

"But I like Ancient Runes." 

Ginny stared pointedly at Hermione. "You know, I've read somewhere that studying too much can cause severe memory loss and head aches during old age." 

Hermione blinked then laughed. "Where did you ever hear something so absurd?" 

"_Procrastinators Weekly_, of course! I'm just kidding. But really, you have to get out more. Ron and Harry wanted me to ask you if you would join them out on the quidditch field." 

"What for?" Hermione asked. 

"I don't know. But I think it might have to do with some new plays for the game against Hufflepuff next week," Ginny replied thoughtfully. 

"I don't think . . ." Hermione paused for a few seconds. Then, she shrugged. "Well, it would be nice to get away from all this studying . . . for a few minutes, of course." 

Hermione grabbed her regular black robes, threw them on, and rushed out to the field, trailing Ginny by only a bit. 

"Ginny!" Hermione cried panting a little. "Go ahead! I'm right behind you!" 

Ginny must have not heard as she was now gaining more ground and getting closer and closer to the Quidditch field. 

Hermione gasped and slowed her pace to a fast walk. "Running is fun. I could run 800 meters without stopping. And yet . . . how am I _this_ out of shape?" she mused out loud. 

"Easy. All you do is stay locked up in your room, I hear, studying." The voice was cold and dripping with disdain. 

Hermione knew immediately who this new voice was and whipped around. "I least I am passing my classes, Malfoy. Unlike certain snakes I know." 

Surprisingly, he was alone, without Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked. "At least I have a life, Granger. Fortunately, I only have to endure residing in same building with you for only one more year." Draco stood there casually, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets. 

"And how I look forward to that happy day when you walk out of my life forever," Hermione sneered then whipped around. "Go back to the hole where you slithered out of. I haven't any more time to waste. I'm going." 

Draco laughed. "As you wish, mudblood." 

Hermione ran, muttering, "Despicable ferret." 

**X**

About five minutes later, Hermione entered the quidditch field. There, she not only saw Ginny, but probably half of the Gryffindors, including the underclassmen. They cheered and saluted the Gryffindor players as they zoomed about on their broomsticks. 

"Hermione!" a cheery voice called. 

Hermione turned around and grinned. "Ginny." 

"What took you so long to get here? I knew you were out of shape, but a turtle would have gotten here faster!" Ginny laughed. 

"I was just distracted. Sorry." 

"A boy caught your eye?" she teased. 

Hermione scowled at the thought. "Quite the contrary. It was . . . Malfoy. That snake. But let's not speak of such dreary people on a day like this!" Hermione said, breathing in the crisp autumn air through her nostrils. "Really, Ginny, nothing can go wrong today. I feel like a million galleons!" 

But Ginny did not answer. Instead, her gaze turned stormy as she noticed who was fast approaching. 

Hermione also frowned. "How delightful." 

"Well, well, I guess we meet again, Granger," Draco noted in a cold voice. This time, he had Crabbe and Goyle strutting behind him. 

"Malfoy, why do you insist on following me around like this? I never knew you held so much interest in me," Hermione replied in a cool voice. 

Draco and his two sidekicks laughed. 

Ginny grabbed Hermione's arm. "Come on. Let's go somewhere else." 

Though tempted to hex Draco, she nodded. Slowly, the two girls turned and attempted to walk away. 

"So, now the mudblood is taking orders from another worm-digging weasel. How utterly pathetic," Draco said, amused. 

Though Ginny kept a straight face, Hermione could see her blood rush up to ears. Hermione's eyes narrowed. 

"Hermione, really it's okay," Ginny pleaded. 

"No," Hermione said as she turned around to face Draco. "Malfoy needs to learn a lesson." 

Draco only smirked in return. 

"Ten points from Slytherin, and more if you do not remove yourself and your two thugs from the Gryffindor stands," Hermione warned. 

Draco walked up to Hermione with his head held up high. Crabbe and Goyle followed him, but Draco soon stopped them with a raise of his hand. "So, Granger, am I supposed to be shaking? Because I'm as sure as hell _not_." 

"Just go, Malfoy," Hermione demanded, fists quivering with the desire to punch his nose. 

Draco stepped closer and closer until his face was but centimeters from hers. "Don't play games in which you don't know the rules, mudblood," he sneered. 

That struck her last nerve. Hermione shoved Draco away from her and she pointed her wand at him. 

Draco recovered quickly and also took out his wand. "Filthy mudblood." 

"Wretched ferret," Hermione returned. 

The younger Gryffindors, already apprehensive, backed up away quickly. Soon enough, there was enough space for a duel. Even the Quidditch players had all stopped practicing and looked at what the commotion was. 

Crabbe and Goyle started to run up to Draco, but Draco once again stopped them with a raised hand. "Let me deal with this mudblood personally." 

Ginny had also tried to run up to Hermione, but she too was stopped. "No, Ginny. I don't need any help." 

Draco and Hermione's faces were marred with fierce scowls as if the memory of their counterpart's face would haunt their lives forever. 

"You know you could never beat me in a duel, Granger!" Draco called. 

"Would you like to wager on that?" Hermione asked. 

Draco sneered. "Do you really think that you can stand up to me? Come on, then. Give me your best shot." 

Hermione could see nothing but Malfoy and his jeering face. She hated him -- utterly and completely _hated_ him with such a great passion. "Watch!" And with that, Hermione attacked Draco with a powerful curse. 

Streaming white light emerged from the wand and exploded. Panicked screams erupted, and many of the younger Gryffindors fled from the duel scene. 

Through a cloud of smoke, Hermione could not see Draco and felt triumph. 

But what Hermione did not know was that Draco had muttered a counter-curse for the attack and was unscathed. Then, suddenly, Draco shouted a curse. Three blazing fireballs materialized out of the air, and he threw them right at Hermione. Hermione dodged them with her shielding curse and the fireballs simply bounced off her, smashing into the marble ceilings and the white stonewalls. They were blown into smithereens. 

"Hermione!" the girl heard someone scream. But Hermione did not answered. She was too blinded by her fury to utter anything but a curse. But when Hermione tried to scream out another spell, she found that she couldn't speak. Draco found himself in a similar situation. 

Hermione grabbed her throat and whipped around to see who it was. She felt her stomach fall as she faced a very, very, angry Professor McGonagall and a wide-eyed Professor Snape, who darted his eyes from Hermione and Draco. No doubt the professors had performed the 'silent curse.' 

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Too angry, most likely. Not a good sign at all. Instead, McGonagall motioned for the two to follow her and whipped around, stomping off, into the school. Snape, however, just coldly glared at Hermione and followed after Professor McGonagall. 

Hermione's face paled, then reddened. This was all Malfoy's fault! If he hadn't taunted her . . . 

Draco was also red in the face. He glowered at Hermione and followed the two professors. 

**

-x-x-

**

Hermione cringed. Though she had her voice returned, she dared not use it. 

"That was the most -- the most _damnable_ thing that you two have ever done! _One hundred points off of you each_!" Professor McGonagall shrieked. 

The two were sitting stiffly in an uncomfortable chair. They winced as they heard the professor curse for the first time in their lives. They also winced again as they heard the points being taken off from their houses. 

Snape glowered at the two students, anger dancing in his dark eyes. Even he didn't stand up for Draco, with the situation being so severe. 

"I cannot believe that you, especially you, Hermione, for being the _Head Girl_, have done such a thing! Did you not know that there were lives at stake for such a foolish display of rage and pride? Fine example you are! I would have expected much better than this!" 

The professor paused and breathed in a deep calming breath. She sat back down and glared at each of them. "I don't understand. You two are older, much more mature, I daresay, and able to handle responsibility. So why are you still after each other's _necks_!" 

Hermione stared at the floor. Draco looked straight at Snape, who shook his head slowly, obviously telling him that he shouldn't expect any lenience from him either. 

"This has gone far enough, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. I am afraid that I will have to assign you both a month's worth of detention, full-time. Until mid-December. I shall notify you with the accurate date." 

"Professor!" Hermione choked out. "Full-time? But you must understand that my grades, my assignments!" 

"Miss Granger, _you_ must understand that you should have thought about your grades before this whole incident. And you must _also_ understand that this is a case extreme enough that we could fancy the possibility of _expulsion_. So if I were you, I would graciously accept this light punishment," McGonagall remarked acidly. She turned towards Draco. "Is that understood, Mister Malfoy?" 

"Yes, professor," he muttered. 

"Professor," Snape said, speaking for the first time. "Why don't I suggest that these two have detentions together? Some time with one another could maybe ease the -- ah -- tension between them." 

Draco and Hermione's eyes widened. Together! 

"With Filch." 

_FILCH_! 

"Professor Snape!" Draco protested. 

"And if another quarrel surfaces between these two, we will have to make the punishment more severe," Snape added nastily, ignoring Draco's pleas. 

Both Hermione and Draco looked as if they were about to faint. 

Professor McGonagall nodded approvingly. "I agree, Severus." She stared at the two horrified students. "Do get along, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy, for if you say one negative word to each other from now until the end of detention and it reaches my ears, there will be thirty points taken off from your houses." 

Hermione and Draco were absolutely aghast. Thirty points! 

"So mind those tongues," Professor McGonagall murmured seethingly. 

Hermione's breaths came in gasps. This was the perfect hell for her. A month of detention, full-time, with Draco Malfoy, within the depths of Filch's dungeons. 

After a painstaking silence, Professor McGonagall excused them. "Go. Now. And rest up, for after your classes, you will spend the night cleaning the dungeons under the orders of Mister Filch." 

Hermione and Draco rose from their seats and walked out rigidly, still under shock. Hermione was the first to regain her composure in the empty hallway as she walked next to Draco and whispered the words, "I hate you," with the most passion she had ever felt in her life. 

"The feeling is mutual, mudblood," Draco returned, his voice equally icy. 


	4. Of Potions and Dragons

**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 4: Of Potions and Dragons   
By: Callisto Callispi 

Hermione walked very slowly from Professor McGonagall's office to her room. And despite the fact that she had her own Head Girl rooms to herself, to reach them, she had to go through the Gryffindor commons. She didn't think she could stomach facing her peers right now. 

She wondered bitterly how Draco was taking all of this. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, _STUPID_ arse! 

_If it weren't for him,_ Hermione thought angrily, _I wouldn't be in this horrific mess in the first place. Now, the whole Gryffindor House has to suffer from me because of _him 

Detention with Malfoy and Filch. Every girl's dream. A perfect little foretaste of what hell was going to be like. 

"It's not fair," she muttered. 

Hermione finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. She opened her mouth to say the password but hesitated. Did she really want to face the whole Gryffindor students _now_? She did lose one hundred points for them . . . 

"Well, dear, are you going to say the password or not?" 

Hermione looked up. "Oh. Um, sorry . . . about that. Pixie limbs." 

The Fat Lady stared at Hermione's face. "Are you all right?" she asked, concerned. 

Hermione sighed. "Hopefully, I will be." 

The Fat Lady looked at her suspiciously but swung the portrait open. 

When Hermione stepped into the Gryffindor commons, she knew that she had severely underestimated her own house's vehemence towards her. Every pair of eyes shifted coldly as she entered. And as she walked past, some of the younger girls whispered to each other. They stared at her as if she were a dead slug. 

_Of course this was what I should have expected._ she thought ill-naturedly. _What did I anticipate? Some party of congratulations awaiting me after I, for god's sakes, just lost one hundred bloody points?_

She sighed and kept walking towards her room. Head Girl. Hermione wished that she had never been named the head girl. 

The Head Girl's room was thankfully distant from the Gryffindor Commons and her private quarters were protected with passwords. At least she didn't have to worry about someone hexing her while she slept. Hermione entered yet another corridor, and saw the door to her room. Sweet salvation, all she wanted to do was sleep this nightmare away. But just as she was about to open the door, a hand grabbed her arm and forced her around. Looking up, she faced Harry, who wore a small grin that seemed totally out of place. 

"Harry," she sighed. "I don't feel like talking now. Now if you will let me go --" 

"Hermione," he interrupted, "just to let you know, no one hates you. And sorry for that detention. Having detention with those slimy gits, Malfoy and Filch, can not be fun." 

Hermione sighed and let go of the door's handle. Despite her trying to keep a straight face, her eyes began to water. Hot tears made their way up to her eyes. She sniffed. 

"Harry, I'm so sorry!" she whispered fiercely. "I know how much you wanted to win the House Cup. You have been trying so hard, winning those quidditch matches . . . and . . . and . . ." A sob escaped her throat. Why was she crying like this? She did not cry. Hermione willed the tears away, but she could still feel the heat between her eyes. 

"Oh, Hermione," Harry said gently as he patted her shoulder sympathetically. "It's all right." 

Just then, Ron appeared from the other corridor. "Hermione . . . are you all right?" he asked quietly. 

Hermione sniffed and nodded but kept her head down, knowing that her eyes were red and strained from keeping her tears within her. Harry made his way towards Hermione, but she stopped him with a shake of her head. 

"I'm all right, Harry, Ron," Hermione whispered softly. "Please, both of you, I need some rest." Hermione turned around and ran into her room. 

Ron looked as if he was about to go in after her, but Harry grabbed his robes and shook his head not to. 

"We should leave her alone," Harry said, as if that explained everything that just went on. 

"Oh," was the response from Ron. 

**X**

Draco scowled as he made his way to the Slytherin commons. He was very, very angry. Angry at everyone and everything -- at McGonagall, Snape, and especially at the mudblood. How dare she? Detention? With Filch! 

He shouted a string of curses in French. Then went on to curse himself in Latin. He knew many languages. Why not use them now? And, of course, he cursed the mudblood quietly in English. His favorite language. 

Detention because of a mudblood. What would his fellow death eaters say about this? 

Of course, Draco wasn't a death eater yet, but after his graduation and some more training in the dark arts, he would be fully prepared to receive the honor of receiving the dark mark. 

_Honor._ Draco thought, rolling his eyes. _What honor is there to serve under a maniac?_

For more reasons than one, his blood boiled as he stomped throughout the Great Hall, earning glares of disapproval from ghosts. 

Unlike Hermione, though, Draco had little to worry about when he entered his own commons. Everyone dared not tease or harass him for getting one hundred points deducted from the Slytherin house. Even the meanest of boys withered under Draco's icy glare. It helped being wealthy. And being closely affiliated with the Dark Lord. 

He reached his own rooms in deep thought. He grudgingly had to admit that this whole "Voldemort's heir" thing had its certain perks. 

**-x-x-**

Hermione woke up the next morning with a foreboding of doom. She wondered why at first but groaned as she remembered McGonagall swearing and what that led to. Damn. And though she wanted to remain in bed for the whole day, she forced herself to shower and dress. In twenty minutes, she was walking down to the Great Hall for breakfast. 

She kept her eyes on her feet as she walked down as she didn't want to attract unwanted attention. Of course, it didn't really do much good since she could hear the Slytherins jeer at her as she passed. 

Then suddenly, Hermione felt herself collide into a body and swing around. Her books flew out of her hands. 

"My, my, I say, mornings are quite the time for accidents. But in your case, should I say the afternoons during quidditch practices?" 

Hermione looked up, shocked and angry that someone would have the nerve to mention that embarrassing ordeal in front of her. But as she met gazes, it was Headmaster Dumbledore himself who was crouched down low, helping her pick up her books. His eyes twinkled merrily as he gazed upon her rather fondly. 

Hermione blushed. "Professor, I'm sorry! That . . . incident yesterday will never happen again! I didn't mean to wreck the place. I promise!" 

But the headmaster merely laughed. "Miss Granger, I accept your apologies, though they should be for those poor obliterated quidditch stands. Though, I admit, at first I was stunned by this shocking behavior . . . and from one of Hogwarts's most promising students no less!" 

Hermione turned a deeper shade of red. 

Dumbledore stared at Hermione. "You say that you are sorry for utterly destroying the Gryffindor stands --" 

Hermione's face felt as if it were going to burst into flames. 

"-- But you didn't say anything about being sorry for raging at Mister Malfoy." 

Hermione had nothing to say to that. Truthfully, she wasn't sorry for her anger towards Draco at all! In fact, if she had another chance to blast him with her wand and not get into any trouble, she would do it once more, and twice if allowed! 

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes slightly. "Miss Granger, control that rage. I respect that you were following your heart, but you will learn how to control that anger of yours. Is that clear?" 

Hermione nodded. "Yes sir." 

Dumbledore smiled. "Well, Miss Granger, I should leave you to enjoy your breakfast now. I believe that sausages and cheese omelets are steaming in the oven. A delectable combination. I should know. I've just had a sample a few minutes ago." 

Hermione smiled. She picked up the last of her books and nodded her good-bye. 

The professor smiled warmly as he watched her leave. But inside, he felt a sudden wash of ice-cold anxiety. _Yes, Hermione, you will need to know how to control that anger. But follow your heart, especially now, and be prepared for the dark times soon ahead._

**-x-x-**

The rest of the day for Hermione went downhill since her talk with Dumbledore. Breakfast, with the exception of the food, was utterly horrible. She couldn't even sit down in her usual spot without having half a dozen sneers tossed in her direction. Hermione wanted to scream. Hopefully, this cold shoulder ordeal would pass soon. Thank God Parvati was there. She actually seemed as if she didn't care about anything that happened and spoke animatedly with Hermione for the whole breakfast, to Hermione's relief. 

After breakfast, Hermione was once again furious to find out that she had double potions . . . with . . . with Slytherins (!) scheduled next. 

"WHY!" she wailed at Parvati who only offered her a hesitant smile. "Why is _everything_ working against me?" 

Hermione entered Snape classroom furiously. She ignored the sneers and sat down stiffly in her usual spot, acutely aware that Draco Malfoy (who was sitting cozily with his own house-mates -- the nerve of him!) was staring at her. 

Soon following her, Harry and Ron came running in and they breathlessly took a chair nearest to them as they searched feverishly for their _Advanced Potions Guide_ in their bags. 

"Damn, Harry, you wouldn't have a spare, would you?" Ron wheezed. 

"Sorry, Ron. Maybe if Snape is in a reasonable mood today, he will let us share. By the way, where's Hermione?" Harry replied. 

_Hah! 'If he's in a reasonable mood?' Try: when he shows up with a fat, greasy smile on his face._ Hermione thought scornfully. _I, the annoying Gryffindor know-it-all, am in for a month of detention, full-time, with Filch and his most treasured student, Malfoy, who will probably wreak unprecedented havoc with complete impunity. Why shouldn't he be delighted?_

"Oh! Hermione! I missed you, there. You wouldn't be able to call over Ron's book, would you?" Harry asked. 

Hermione sighed, saying, "Hi to you too." 

She whispered a spell and in no time at all, Ron's book came flying right into this classroom. But not where she wanted it to be. It flew right into the hands of Draco Malfoy. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows in exasperation and slapped her forehead. She didn't want to deal with Malfoy today more than she absolutely had to. By the looks of it, neither did Harry. But nevertheless, he walked over to the group of Slytherins, and she followed him. 

"I doubt that you would have much use for that book. Why don't you hand it over, Malfoy?" Harry asked coldly. 

Hermione silently cursed. How could she have been stupid enough to not direct it towards Ron? Instead, out of all of the people in the room, it just _had_ to go to Draco. The forces were working against her. 

Draco grinned. "You want it back, Potter? Why don't you get that mudblood friend of yours to retrieve it? It was her incantation, after all." Contempt dripped with every word. "Really, how pathetic can you get? Why don't you stop being such a dog for that creature. She's not worthy. Even of you." 

Hermione felt heat rush up to her face, but she forced herself to keep a straight face, for she wouldn't let Draco have the satisfaction of seeing her hurt in any way. 

"Clean your nasty little mouth, Malfoy." 

"Clean your blood, _muggle-born_." 

"I am muggle-born," Hermione said in a low voice. "That is true. But I don't see the problem with that. It has to be better than being a snotty, whiny git of Malfoy who possesses the most uncanny ferret-like face and voice." 

Draco glared at her. Hermione glared back. 

"Hermione, let it go," Harry said slowly. "He's not worth it, and you know that." 

"Your right, Harry. He's not worth it." She turned away from Draco. "I won't sink to the level of a _ferret_." 

That remark must have struck a cord inside of Draco, for he sprang up from where he was sitting, grabbed hold of Hermione's wrist, and whipped her around to face him. She gaped up at him. 

"Let go!" she shrieked. 

By now, everyone's attention was on Hermione and Draco. 

"Let her go, you slimy git!" It was Ron. 

Draco looked over at Ron then glared down at Hermione. She was suddenly scared, though she would never openly admit it, of Draco Malfoy. His face held an expression of such intensity that she could not help but flinch. She glared back at him, trying to feign an air of utter contempt. 

"Listen here, mudblood," he whispered dangerously in a voice that was audible to her ears only. He threw her wrist down. "If you can learn to keep your mouth shut, maybe you'll get through this detention unscathed. Don't test my patience." 

He threw the potions book at her and Hermione caught it. "You don't scare me," she said quietly. "You think you're some sort of a god. But guess what, Malfoy? You're not. We both know you aren't. So stop pretending that you are, especially in front of me." 

Hermione turned around and went to her seat, knowing that he would be more angry at her, but who cared? Surely not her! 

Harry sat next to Hermione, changing his seat. With a look of sympathy, he asked quietly, "Did that arse hurt you?" He examined her wrist. 

"No," she answered angrily. She glared at Draco. 

Ron joined them. "Do you want me to hex that bastard?" 

But before she could respond, Professor Snape entered. 

"Sit down, sit sown," he snarled. He smirked contemptuously in Hermione's general direction then focused back on the class. "Seeing that the lot of you have covered most of the useful potions in your textbooks, today we will do something a bit out of your league." 

The class buzzed with excitement. 

"We will learn how to create the not-as-well-known Polyjuice potion." 

Harry and Ron snorted. Hermione kept a straight face. 

Snape noticed this, however, and looked at them. "Does this sound like some sort of a joke to you, Mr. Potter? Mr. Weasley? I hope that you won't find this project amuses you to death since it is worth about a quarter of your potions grade this term. Ten points from Gryffindor for insubordination." 

The boys immediately shut up. 

Snarling, Snape began addressing the rest of the class. "Now, who here can tell me and the rest of the class what the Polyjuice Potion is used for and what it can do?" 

To no one's surprise, Hermione's hand shot up. 

Snape looked around the class to see there were any other alternatives, but there weren't any. He called on Hermione. 

"The Polyjuice potion was used by death eaters to spy on their enemies. Though the potion was effective for the death eaters at fist, it gradually lost popularity since the effects of the potion wore off after an hour. The Polyjuice potion allows the person who consumes it to change into whomever they wish to be. Of course, the potion must contain a bit of whomever the person wishes to change into, like a strand of hair for example." 

"I'm sure the class thanks you for your long-winded account of the potion," the professor remarked acidly. "In fact, merely just an answer of the potion being a solution used to entirely alter one's appearance for one hour would have sufficed. Well?" he snapped. "Have you taken all of that down?" 

All students immediately scratched their quills onto their parchments. 

Satisfied, the professor started again. "Now, does anyone know how long it takes to prepare this particular potion?" 

Hermione's hand shot up again. Snape frowned and reluctantly called on her. 

"The Polyjuice potion's preparation time varies. Some of the ingredients need to be acquired at a certain time of the month." 

"Correct." Snape eyed her suspiciously, obviously wondering how a student knew so much about the Polyjuice potion, and in such detail no less. Hermione shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Thankfully, Snape turned away and pointed his wand at his desk where, magically, a stack of papers appeared. "You will work with a partner in order to make the Polyjuice potion. If you fail to make one, I'm afraid your Potions mark will, forgive me, _die_." 

The student's anxiously eyed one another. 

"And no, you will _not_ get to choose your partners; I will assign them," he said with a horrible expression on his face. "And, according to Headmaster Dumbledore, it will be inter-house. Some rubbish about attempting the houses to work together in harmony." 

Everybody groaned. 

"Terrence Amark, you're with Seamus Finnigan," Snape declared in an apathetic voice. 

The two young men looked at each other in disgust as they moved towards a table, grabbing an ingredient sheet as they mumbled to themselves. 

"Mister Thomas with Mister Crabbe." 

More grumbling. 

"Mister Longbottom with . . . Mister Goyle," Snape drawled. 

Hermione gasped and Harry and Ron's eyes turned into slits. How could he partner up poor Neville with gorilla-like Goyle? Neville gulped and Goyle smirked, cracking his knuckles. 

"Miss Granger," Snape started. 

Hermione held her breath. _Not Malfoy, not Malfoy, oh dear God, not Malfoy._

"You are with Miss Parkinson." 

Sighing a sigh of relief, she walked over to Pansy's table, which was uncomfortably next to Draco's. She decided to avoid eye contact with him and looked at Pansy. She was glaring at Hermione. Hermione blinked, deciding to ignore _her_ glare as well and got up to get an ingredient sheet. 

As she got it, she bumped into someone and looked up to see that it was Draco Malfoy, himself. 

She stared at his cold gray eyes for a second and whipped around. She stomped back to the table she shared with Pansy and sat down. 

"Forget it, Granger," Pansy remarked coldly. 

"Forget what?" she snapped back. 

Pansy smirked and looked at Draco, who was currently paired up with Ron. From Hermione's point of view, Ron had quite of a greenish look on his face. 

"Forget Draco. He's not good enough for you. Don't you dare touch him," Pansy warned. 

Hermione's jaw fell open. "If you think that I want to even look at that slug, you're horribly mistaken." 

After Professor Snape assigned all the partners, he instructed the class to sit down and listen as he explained how to prepare the Polyjuice potion. 

"On your list there, the fluxweed will be have to picked at the next full moon for the potion to work correctly. That is in about twenty-five days. Also, the lacewings have to be stewed for at least fifteen days." 

Draco raise his hand. 

"Yes, Mister Malfoy?" 

"You said that the fluxweed will have to be picked at the full moon. Do you mean during the night?" Draco asked. 

Professor Snape nodded. "Correct. And while that day approaches, we will study the fluxweed and how to identify it, we will stew the lacewings, and we will prepare the other ingredients. Any other questions?" he asked, with a look that dared anyone to ask him anything. 

And Neville of all people raised a quivering hand. 

"_YES_, Mister Longbottom?" Snape said impatiently. 

"U-um, Professor, what will we do after we create the Polyjuice potion?" Neville stammered. 

"Wh-what will w-we d-do?" Snape mocked Neville. Neville's face turned red. "Well, for once, I am glad that you asked a question. After you create that potion, each of you will test it to see if you have made it correctly." 

Hermione's eyes widened. So did Pansy's. 

"You will split the potion in half, put a hair in it, and drink it. If you turn into your counterpart, the potion is a success." 

The whole class fell silent. Morphing into one another? That was unthinkable! Ron especially looked horrified. 

"Professor!" cried the students in protest. 

Professor Snape shrugged. "The alternative is failing." He smiled a cruel little smile. "Your choice. And I advise you to use this time wisely to get aquatinted with your partners." 

Hermione glanced at Pansy and suddenly felt sick just by looking at her. Turning away, she glanced down at her textbook, struggling not to run out of the classroom in horror. Working with Malfoy, Parkinson, and Filch all in the same day. Joy. Utter, _rapturous_ joy. 

**X**

Class ended minutes ago and Draco finally managed to escape the Potions classroom. He now walked in the blissfully empty halls to his next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts: without the Pansy's sulking; without the gorilla-like growls of Crabbe and Goyle; without sound, period. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts. Hah! Like _he_ would ever need it. His father had taught him the most basic dark magic and the counter-curses to most of those same dark attacks when he was only six. These simpering do-good professors were just about to make him sick. Besides, he wouldn't need to learn any counter-curses with the dark lord as his master. Master. 

Draco swore. He didn't need or want a master. A person who had a master was weak. Only a fool, the puppet of another. Draco was no puppet. 

His mind wandered, just as he did along these twisting halls. No, he didn't need to learn anymore defense tactics. He was fully capable of that. 

Draco stopped walking and cursed. He took the wrong shortcut, and now, he had to take the long way to the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Draco turned abruptly and started to walk a bit faster. He still had seven minutes to get there, but he hated being tardy. And, also, the fact that his detention sentence would be extended if he were late riled his mind. 

Walking along the carpeted hall ways, he turned yet another corner. But he soon stopped and turned back at who he saw. Hermione. He leaned against the wall and watched her quietly. She was currently studying a painting. Her eyes seemed so intense. 

Draco opened his mouth to make smart comment but surprisingly decided against it. He sighed and scratched his head. What was overcoming him? 

Hermione seemed to have heard him in one way or another. She took out her wand. "Whoever you are, come where I can see you." 

Draco leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling, amused. _Trying to be brave, eh?_

"I swear I will hex you, whoever you are," Hermione said loudly. 

Draco rolled his eyes. He stepped out. "Keep your shirt on, Granger. For all our sakes. It's only me." 

Hermione seemed to relax a bit but then tensed up again. "Oh, it's you. I though it was some troll." She raised an eyebrow. "Well, you might as well be one." She turned away from him and continued to study the painting in deep interest. 

Draco kept staring at her. After a moment of silence, Draco spoke, but his original wish to address her about that "ferret" comment died on his lips. He said instead, "Why are you so deeply engrossed with that painting?" 

"It's just . . . captivating," Hermione answered wistfully. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. He walked up to her to see what was so 'captivating' about this painting. He stood behind Hermione, looking above her head. He was tall, a head taller than Hermione, and he just stared at the painting, then at Hermione, then at the painting again. 

It was just an oil paining of two red dragons, breathing out fire onto the heavens. The clouds glowed red, almost resembling roses. The land below was dark and blue, carpeted with turquoise trees. But all in all, it was just a nice painting done by a professional, and probably unknown, artist. 

"I don't sense the captivation," he said skeptically. 

"You wouldn't understand," Hermione said softly. "You probably don't have an artistic bone in your body. You can't just feel it . . . can you? Can't you feel it . . . ?" 

Hermione traced the outlines of the dragon with her fingertips. 

"You're starting to scare me, Granger." 

Hermione snapped out of her trance and moved away from the painting and Draco. "I had better get to class," she said, her voice horribly raspy. She started down the hall. "Don't want to give the professors an excuse for lengthening the detention." 

Draco followed the girl with his eyes. She was a strange one, she was. He stared at the painting again. Captivation? 

"Nonsense," he said as he made his way to his next class. 


	5. The First Task

**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 5: The First Task   
By: Callisto Callispi 

The fire cackling in the huge stone fireplace failed to illuminate the shadow-drenched room. Partly it was due to the size of the room. But mostly, it was because of the nearly withered figure slumped in a tattered chair settled mere centimeters from the flames. He only brooded silently, seemingly unaware of the red and orange bursts of burnt wood that popped onto his black robe. He absorbed the warmth. He always did. 

"You annoy me so, little man," he rasped finally, holding up his wand. "Why do you return?" 

"Please, master, I will not fail you. Please, remember, I have brought great success to your healing. I beg you, master!" he wailed. 

_HSSSSS . . ._

Wormtail whimpered as he felt something large and scaly slither around his mid-section. "Please, master. Don't kill me!" 

The snake only tightened its grip. Suddenly the figure shifted. He hissed in parseltongue. Reluctantly, the snake loosened its grip. A bit. 

"Tell me. Why do I require the aid of a man as _formidable_ as yourself?" the figure inquired dryly. 

"I-I --" 

"That's what I thought," the voice answered with cruel satisfaction. 

"WAIT! Master! I can get you Harry Potter! Even dead, if you wish!" the small man shouted as soon as the snake began to slowly suffocate him. 

The figure in the chair laughed hollowly. "Are you desperate enough to turn to lies, Wormtail? Even I, Lord Voldemort, have failed to get rid of that Potter child. What makes you think that _you_ can succeed in that I have failed?" 

"M-master, I-I have sources inside that Hogwarts Castle. If you would only give me until the spring of next year, Harry Potter will be as dead as a doornail," gasped Wormtail, painfully aware that his face was turning purple. "Very, _very_ good sources." 

A painstaking silence followed during which the figure in the chair contemplated the proposal. 

A church bell rang deeply in the distance. Wormtail would have thought it sounded beautiful if he wasn't too busy trying to pry the snake off of his chest. Just a little more and it would crush him! 

_BONG! BONG!_

God help him. His master was going to kill him! 

_BONG! BONG!_

The figure shifted again and coughed weakly. Then the Dark Lord, his voice wavering, replied, "Fine, Wormtail. I will spare you. This once. If you indeed succeed in getting rid of that annoying brat, I will reward you most lavishly. But if you fail, I will not refrain from killing you. No more second chances." 

Wormtail wailed for breath. 

_BONG!_

More Parseltongue. The snake released its hold on Wormtail grudgingly. Wormtail almost wept. His salvation! Praise those heavenly bells. 

"Off with you then. I don't want to see your face again until you are summoned." 

Wormtail took this moment to flee from his master's view. Sweat dripped down his brow. He escaped his master's cold wrath once more. He would live -- this time. 

**-x-x-**

The face of the old grandfather clock announced with quiet dignity that thirty minutes had passed the hour of six. Hermione sighed. 

_Well, here I go. Detention. For me. Head Girl Hermione._

She dragged her feet towards Filch's office. "Oh dear," she moaned as she almost slipped on the slimy dungeon stairs. She squinted, trying to see where these steps stopped, but she saw nothing. The stairs soon were enveloped in a fog of black darkness. With fear plaguing her heart, Hermione climbed hesitantly down and walked along an equally dark hallway until she finally stood in front of a wooden door. Reluctantly, she knocked. 

"What?" came a rough voice. 

Hermione jumped a bit but allowed herself in. 

She first spotted a small fire in the fire place that was as tall as the length of her forearm (both the fire place and the fire) and an almost-rotten desk settled in the middle of the room. It was a dark and chilly office, stinking faintly of mildew and rotten eggs. There were no windows, no rugs, and no source of light except for a lone candle and the fire. 

Catching a glint of bright silver, she turned her head and found Draco Malfoy sitting comfortably in a black chair, smiling lazily at her. He looked almost . . . saintly. His pale complexion and bright hair shimmered almost ethereally against his pitch-black cloaks, even in this greasy light. But where was the saint's halo? 

_Oh, yes. HE DOESN'T _HAVE_ ONE! Why? Because he's the DEVIL himself!_

Hermione glared and tilted her chin upwards. A gesture of disdain. Draco scowled. 

"Why don't you take a seat, Granger?" Draco asked seethingly, motioning to the chair next to him. "You're blinding me with your uncompromising Gryffindor nobility and dignity, standing so proudly like that." 

Hermione glared and snapped her head away from Draco. "Well, in that case, I'd rather stand, thank you." 

"Do what you will, filthy mudblood," Draco hissed in return. 

Hermione clenched her, willing herself to maintain control. After all, jumping on him and ripping his smirking lips from of his face would have achieved nothing but more punishment. Not to mention he was stronger than her. Much stronger. 

Suddenly, the door slammed open. Hermione turned to see who it was. 

Filch. 

The caretaker jeered at both Hermione and Draco as he slowly walked into his office. He sat down behind his desk with Mrs. Norris trailing behind him. The cat bared her teeth at Hermione as she followed her master. 

"Take a seat," he sneered at Hermione. 

Hermione's mouth thinned to a straight line, much like Professor McGonagall when she was angry. She sat down in the vacant chair adjacent to Draco's and scooted as far away from him as possible. 

"Well, well, the Head Girl and the rather influential Slytherin. Suspected that the last place that you'd end up was here." Filch smiled, displaying a stunning array of yellow and crooked teeth. "Professors Snape and McGonagall informed me that I was to prepare the detention." He frowned. "Though if I had it my way, I would have chained you two to the ceiling; detention the old-fashioned way!" 

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

"But unfortunately, the Ministry of Magic does not approve of that solution," Filch remarked with a rueful shake of his head. "Now, the professors insisted that I make this detention clear to both of you. Detention starts exactly at seven in the evening. Tardiness will not be endured. Every minute that you are late will serve as an extra hour." Filch's lip curled into a happy little smile. 

Draco quickly threw a dirty look at Hermione. She scowled back. 

"You will get to leave from your detention at midnight, _if_ I have seen that you were not lounging about. Have I made that clear?" 

Neither Hermione nor Draco said a word. 

"Good," drawled Filch as he leaned back in his chair. "Now, for today's detention, you will head up to the owlery and feed the owls there by refilling their food and water bowls. Awfully cranky they are when they grow hungry." 

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Did he just know _how_ many owls were in the owlery? Almost two hundred! 

"If you aren't careful, they might poke out an eye," Filch added hopefully. "It shouldn't take you two that long. After you finish that _simple_ task, report back to me." 

Hermione bit back a moan. _Midnight! We get off at midnight! How will I _ever_ get all of my school work done on time? I need sleep too!_

Filch got up. "Now, if you will follow me, I will get you some gloves and a more suitable attire than your school robes." 

Reluctantly, the two both got up, scowling at each other and Filch. 

**X**

The two emerged in the owlery with thick gloves protecting their hands and donning robes that were once black but had faded into a dark gray. Filch quickly explained what to do. 

Hermione grimaced as she looked at herself, recalling her conversation with Filch a minute before. 

_"Doesn't magic refill the bowls?" she had asked. _

"Why, Miss Granger, would you want to do a different, more difficult task?" Filch snarled. 

"No, sir, it's just that I --" But she was cut off by Filch. 

"Perhaps cleaning up the mess you and Mister Malfoy made in the Gryffindor quidditch section would suit your tastes?" 

"I didn't mean any_ disre --" _

"Get to work then!" he roared. 

_Stupid arse!_ she spat. But then shook her head. _I'm lucky to get away just with detention. Professor McGonagall could have stripped me of my title as Head Girl. Or worse . . . I could have been expelled! Why did I have to attack Malfoy? I've never lost my temper like that to anyone else. Why is he so special! True, he's a slimy toad with an ego that could counter a Hippogriff's but . . ._

Hermione stared at Draco to find him with his arms crossed. A scowl marred his face. She bit back a smirk. 

_Well, maybe it wasn't a mistake to wipe that jeer off of his smug face._

"Keep that expression on your face, Granger. Maybe you can win an award for 'Ugliest Cave Troll of the Year,'" Draco snapped, annoyed. 

"Keep talking ferret-boy. Maybe if you're lucky you can find something intelligent to say," Hermione shot back. 

Draco smiled innocently. His eyes glinted with obvious dislike. "You know, if it weren't for you, we wouldn't be stuck in this mess in the first place." 

"_ME_!" Hermione said shrilly. "Have you suddenly developed a case of amnesia? Who called who a 'mudblood?'" 

Draco glowered at Hermione. "If you weren't such so insufferable and so . . . so _Gryffindor_, I probably wouldn't have called you that," he snapped back. "But I was mistaken. What else can I expect from someone muggle-born?" 

"So I guess you expect me to apologize for being born into a muggle family? Sure, it's all _my_ fault," Hermione answered sarcastically. 

"Exactly what I was thinking," Draco muttered. 

Hermione ignored him and moved away from the infuriating man as far as possible. "Start at that end, and I'll begin here." 

Draco looked like he was going to refuse but then stiffly walked to where Hermione directed him to go. 

Hermione stared at the large barn owl. _Well, it must be done,_ she thought as she attempted opened the cage in an attempt to refill the water bowl. Apparently, she didn't possess the natural charm that appealed to animals. The owl pecked at her viciously. "Oh stay still you!" Hermione muttered. 

"Talking to yourself, Granger?" she heard Draco call from the other side of the owlery. 

Hermione's anger boiled. Couldn't he leave her alone for just one bloody minute? She was about to tell him to go and stick a rusty meat hook up his nose but thought better of it and instead replied, "Yes, in fact, I was. I was muttering how you should do all of us a favor and walk off a cliff!" 

Mocking laughter. "That'll be the day, Granger, that'll be the day." 

Hermione glared at Malfoy's turned back and felt an overwhelming urge to hex him. But just as she was reaching for her wand, she felt sudden, burning pain shooting through her arm. She looked down and watched the owl as he was trying to fly out of his cage. The blasted owl had pecked her! 

"Stupid little thing!" she cried. 

Draco immediately stopped what he was doing a glanced at Hermione in cold amusement. "Now you _had_ to be talking to yourself that time." 

Hermione ignored him. She threw a death glare at the owl as it hooted in return. Slamming the cage shut, she pulled off her glove and stared at where the owl had so viciously pecked her. The wound was right under the robe gray sleeve. She pulled the sleeve up and winced as she saw blood oozing out from the wound and looked around for a bandage of some sort. She didn't want her blood to make a mark on the robe. It would make Filch only more furious. Biting her lip, she turned and groped about for some sort of towel. To her surprise, she felt something soft against the side of her face. 

"Use this," Draco said. 

He was holding a handkerchief. It was white and on the bottom left corner was a snake wrapping itself around two letters. 'D.M.' it read. The words were carefully stitched in gold thread and the snake was sewed in with silver and black. 

Hermione looked at him strangely and carefully took the piece of cloth to examine it. 

"For God's sake, I haven't hexed it!" 

Still, her eyes were searching his face. 

Draco, probably annoyed that she didn't accept his hospitality, sneered, "Hurry up and wipe that dirty blood off before you ruin the robe." 

Hermione's eyes flashed with anger. She pressed the cloth down on the wound to cease some of the blood flow. "I didn't need your help," she bit out. 

Without a word, he swiftly turned around and started on his next owl. 

**X**

_**About three hours later . . .**_

Quickly snatching her hand out of the cage, Hermione sighed and smiled. She looked around with a satisfied grin. All the owls in their cages had their food and water bowls refilled. "Malfoy! Are you done with your half?" she called. 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I was done thirty minutes ago." 

She stared at him, annoyed. "Helpful aren't you?" 

Draco merely shrugged. "Why would I want to do another round of chores that only servants and house elves perform? And why would I want to aid a mudblood?" 

Hermione's face darkened into a scowl. "I should have known." 

"Known what?" he snapped. 

Hermione faced Draco. "I should have known that I could never expect anything worthwhile from someone like you." 

"That's a laugh, Granger!" An amused smirk crept up his face. "You should be honored that a pureblooded person like me is even speaking to you." 

Hermione's hands were clenched into fist. Her knuckles were white. "You're so blind. Does blood matter so much, you arrogant ass? You're so ignorant." 

"And you're insufferable. You are worthless, little girl. And powerless. Don't trifle with me." 

Hermione, despite herself, felt heat prick her eyes. Anger boiled so deeply within her that it released itself in perspiration and tears. But she would not cry in front of this cruel man who towered so infuriatingly over her. She would not succumb to her rage. "I hate you." 

Draco's eyes narrowed. No smirks, no snarls. Just hate. "You disgust me." 

Still valiantly trying to fight down tears of frustration, Hermione grabbed her gloves and shoved past Draco. By shoving, she deliberately pushed him to the side as she made her way back to Filch's office, causing him to stumble and almost knock down cages full of owls. 

She took out the handkerchief that he had given her, her fast pace slowing into a walk. D.M., the corner of the handkerchief read in curvy writing, stitched in gold thread. Blood stained the fabric. 

_If I have such dirty blood,_ she wondered spitefully, _why did he let me use it?_

But Hermione pushed back a wave of self pity that was quickly overtaking her mind. Why did she need to pity herself? He was all foul talk. No action. 

Swearing, she threw the handkerchief down in front of her. She held her head up high and continued walking to Filch's office, stepping on the small white piece of cloth as she made her way. She then broke into a run, trying to get as far away from Draco as possible. 

**X**

Draco stalked towards Filch's office while violently cursing Hermione. 

_Hag! Dirty little mudblood hag! How dare she say that to me? How dare she touch me!_

He stared at a large clock as he passed by. A quarter past nine. _Only two hours and forty-five minutes to go._ Draco thought longingly. The corridors were already dark, lit only by the musty light of the ceiling lamps. 

Looking ahead, he caught a glimpse of her swirling robes as she sprinted towards Filch's office. She was running away from him. He smirked, feeling a little better. 

_Little mudblood. How I enjoy playing with you,_ he thought with a little smirk. _How I enjoy pulling your last nerve. But it angers you, doesn't it, mudblood? That you can never win this war between us?_

But Draco then scowled as well. He couldn't defeat her as much as she couldn't defeat him. And why the hell did he offer her his handkerchief? It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. He disliked the sight of ripped flesh. Anything to cover it up. 

After a couple of minutes of walking, he spotted a small white object on the red carpeted floor. Curious, he bent down to examine what it was then realized with widened eyes that it was his handkerchief he had offered Hermione! Picking it up gingerly, he examined it, cringing as his finger just barely grazed over the blood spot. Getting a dark look on his face, he envisioned wringing Hermione's precious little neck. How dare she throw something away so carelessly that was offered to her? And it was from a Malfoy, no less! 

Baring his teeth, Draco pinched the handkerchief and prepared to hurl it out the window. Anything that had the blood of someone muggle-born like her smeared on it was not even worth his time. But as a brisk swell of wind nibbled at his face, Draco closed his eyes. And when he did, he saw her face. She was glaring up at him. 

"Mudblood, get out of my head!" Draco whispered to no one. 

Without another word, he tossed the handkerchief out the window and watched it sway in the wind. 


	6. The Lord of the Dark

**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 6: The Lord of the Dark   
Written by: Callisto Callispi

Wormtail hurried along the trails that he had marked. A sharply curved crescent moon shone wickedly like the slanted eye of a cat. It's luster cast an eerie silver glow on the rolling hills of England. 

Tears of fear ran down his cheeks. Somehow, he had to kill Harry Potter or at least hand him over to the Dark Lord. No easy task. Dumbledore guarded the castle of Hogwarts, and the enchantments around the school were stronger than ever. And he couldn't contact his source inside the castle. 

Shivering, Wormtail headed for the Black Snake Inn. Maybe there, he could get some help. 

**-x-x-**

Draco shoved the door to Filch's office open. The large wooden door slammed against the cold stone wall, and the unpleasant clang vibrated throughout the underground. Hermione's head shot up. She threw him a cold glare, her back stiff and her posture regal. 

"Filch will be here soon." Hermione narrowed her eyes. 

Draco glared and grabbed the vacant chair next to her. He dragged it away from her and to the other side of the desk. The metal bottom of the chairs leg screeched. Hermione winced. 

Settled in, Draco sighed and rubbed his eyes and catching her stare, he mouthed the word 'mudblood' at her. Scowling, she whipped her head around. 

Hermione squirmed in her seat, feeling _very_ uncomfortable. She could almost feel his cold glare her back. 

"PEEVES!" 

Hermione jerked visibly, her heart racing. Was that Filch? 

"PEEVES! YOU BLOODY BASTARD!" 

Hermione jumped from her chair and dashed to the door to see what the commotion was about. Draco also did the same. She inched the door just slightly open, and the sight that welcomed her made choke back her laughter. 

There Filch stood with Mrs. Norris clamped tight to his head, and Peeves, with a wand (obviously the stolen wand of an unfortunate student), had hexed a pig's snout on Filch. He laughed like a maniac, hovering just over the reach of Filch's jumping form who was attempting to get the wand back. 

"PEEVES!" Filch roared with Mrs. Norris meowing continually. She grasped tight on the head of Filch, trying her best not to fall off. "I warn you to give that wand back to me! Or the Bloody Baron will surely hear of this!" yelled Filch. 

That must have knocked some sense into Peeves. He grinned nastily and threw the wand next to the door where Hermione and Draco watched. With wide eyes, Hermione shut the door and hustled over to the chair, trying and hopelessly failing to keep a straight face. Draco also did the same. 

From outside the dungeon door, the students could both hear the discordant conversation between the two. ("Fetch, Squibby!" "Peeves, you damnable beast!" "HEHEHEHE!" "MEOW!" "Get off Mrs. Norris!") 

They heard a small 'POP!' Peeves obviously disapparated from the spot, leaving a very angry, poltergeist-less Filch. 

The dungeon door slammed open, and in came Filch, grabbing Mrs. Norris by the top of her neck. He had his hand over his nose, obviously trying to hide the pig's snout that Peeves conjured up. He then glared at both Hermione and Draco. Snarling, he said, "Don't move from your spots or I will convince Professor McGonagall to lengthen this happy detention." And with that threat, he whisked out of the room, muttering something about surgery. 

Hermione sputtered out a small giggle, not caring if Draco stared at her. Mrs. Norris hissed and bared her fangs. 

"Er . . . Granger, that cat looks like --" 

But before Draco could finish, Mrs. Norris bounded from the desk with her claws glimmering like knives . . . headed straight for Hermione's face. 

"Wait!" 

Frozen in her spot, Hermione watched, shocked as the cat froze in mid-air in front of her. She turned to face Draco and gasped, seeing him with his wand pointed straight at Mrs. Norris. His eyes were wide, amazed at what he had done. 

"_REOOORRRW!_" 

But Hermione did not even notice that the cat fell to the ground in front of her. She kept her bewildered gaze on Draco. He had just . . . _helped_ her. 

"The cat's twitching," he muttered, pocketing his wand, looking horribly confused over the turn of events. 

"Malfoy. You . . . you just . . ." 

He smirked. "I just saved your face?" 

Her voice failed her. Cocky little . . . "Something along the lines of that." 

"Well don't think too much of it, Granger. I can't stand staring at your hideous face right now. Think what horrors I would have to endure if that cat shed any blood." 

Hermione's hands clenched into fists. How she wanted to pummel that smirk off of his lips, even if -- as he put it so eloquently -- he did save her face. But she resisted the temptation, no matter how strong it was. Instead, she sat down resolutely, staring at the twitching Mrs. Norris with satisfaction. 

**-x-x-**

The lake glittered like black diamonds. A phantom wind rustled the surrounding forests. Fog crept in through the woody land like ghosts. 

The inn seemed warm under the cold glow of the moon. Golden light seeped out from the broken shutters like a mist of honey. Wormtail approached this inn, his eyes gazing at the sign on top of the door. 

_Black Snake Inn_

"Wormtail!" cried the people in the inn. 

Wormtail approached the bartending witch. 

"What'll it be, sonny?" the old witch cackled, running a gnarled hand through her stringy gray hair. It was trouseled and so disheveled that it seemed she hadn't brushed it for days. She seemed to smile, but it was hard to tell. Her face was covered in numerous wrinkles, and her black eyes were squinty. One eye was red, as if she had an infection. "English Rum? Some heated Dragon Fluid?" she offered, holding up a red wine bottle. 

Dragon Fluid was a drink that was once popular back in the days of the Dark Lord almost twenty years ago. However, when the Dark Lord had been reduced to nothing by Harry Potter, the ministry made the drink illegal for it involved the mass slaughter of dragons for their blood and other vital organs to make this highly alcoholic beverage. 

"No, nothing for me, currently," said Wormtail wearily, removing the blue hood of his cloak. 

The old witch frowned, her already haggish face looking even more gruesome. "If it's that unicorn milk you want, I can't. My supply is dry." She paled suddenly. "_He_ doesn't want some," she asked, lowering her scratchy voice, "does he?" 

Wormtail shook a weary head. "No, Aggy, he doesn't." 

Some color came back into the old woman's face. She sighed in relief and grinned once more. "So, then, lad, what do you want?" 

"I _told_ you Aggy, nothi --" Wormtail stopped as he saw a tall man entering the inn. 

His skin and hair were fair. Wormtail peered at the man closely. He couldn't quite place who it was. He seemed so familiar, though. Peter knew him. He saw him somewhere . . . 

"Oh, Merlin," Wormtail whispered. 

"Ah, Mr. Lucius Malfoy," the old witch cackled. She beckoned him over with her hand. "How nice to see you again." 

Lucius looked up suddenly and caught sight of the old witch. He calmly walked over while Wormtail hastily pulled his hood back up. 

"Ms, Agatha," Lucius greeted in a smooth voice. "How -- er -- pleasant to see you again," he added with a forced smile. 

But Agatha didn't acknowledge his abhorrence toward her and began her endless chattering. 

"I can feel it in the wind, you see. You-Know-Who is rising once again and he's deeply angry over something. The air trembles with his anger. He had something stolen from him --" 

"_What_?" Lucius demanded. Wormtail's head snapped up. 

_You fool!_ he raged in his head. _You don't bring that up, for Christ's sake!_ He looked around desperately. There had to be a way to get out of here, unnoticed. By the look of things, this fool was about to garble out every bit of information regarding him and his master. Trust a senile clairvoyant to do no less. 

Agatha, however, seemed bewildered. "What?" 

"About the Dark Lord," said Lucius. He leaned over the counter. "What about the Dark Lord?" he pressed. 

"Oh!" cried Agatha, gleefully cackling. "The dark master himself is regaining power! Ever since the last misfortune six years ago, he was slowly recovering. But there are rumors in the shadows. The Dark Lord is angry. Something was stolen from him." 

"H-How . . . why . . . when . . . where did you get this information?" Lucius sputtered. 

Wormtail felt the same as Lucius. No one should have known about the Dark Lord or the books yet! Aggy was as potent as ever. 

"No need to be rude now," Agatha said displaying her blackened teeth. 

_Shut your mouth, hag!_ Wormtail cried in his head. He took his wand out from his cloak pocket. He would have to perform the _Avada Kadavra_ curse if he had to, but he didn't want to deal with Lucius Malfoy at the moment. He was sure that he would question how this hag knew about his master, and after he'd get the details, he's blab to the Dark Lord about it. Surely he would get punished! 

"Wormtail here," she motioned, pointing a finger towards him, "comes here practically twice a week to purchase some unicorn milk for his master." 

Lucius's head turned immediately to where Wormtail was sitting. His face turned red with either anger or disbelief or both. 

_WENCH!_ Wormtail pulled out his wand and threw back his cloak. "Yes, Malfoy. It is I, Wormtail. I have been nursing our master back to health when disloyal followers like _you_ abandoned him to die." His tone sounded much more braver than he felt. He pointed his wand straight at Lucius's throat. 

"Wormtail!" Agatha shrieked. "What are you doing?" She grabbed a knife and held it out in front of her. 

"Put away that silly knife, woman. You know it cannot stand up to a wand." Wormtail glanced over his shoulder. "If you do not want to get hurt, better leave now." 

The many people who were occupying the inn fled. 

Lucius Malfoy's eyes widened. "You!" His surprised face reformed back into a nasty smile. He held up his hands. "Wormtail, we both know that you could never kill a fellow death eater. It's against the Dark Lord's code. Besides," he drawled, "I have no wand. You will achieve nothing here by killing me except to prove to the Dark Lord that you are a coward." 

Wormtail's hand quivered. It was true. The Dark Lord wouldn't stand for cowards, and whoever broke that sacred code but Voldemort himself was punishable by the Crutatius Curse. 

"S-so? I'm sure I'll be doing my m-master a favor by g-getting rid of _you_," Wormtail stuttered. 

Lucius smirked. "Oh, I don't think so, Wormtail," he answered a matter-of-factly. "The Dark Lord has clearly declared that my son would become his successor. To kill the biological father of his heir is almost blasphemous." 

Wormtail opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came from his dry throat. It was all true, what Malfoy said. And as much as he hated it, he couldn't harm Lucius at all. 

"Now, may I ask you where the Dark Lord is currently residing?" Lucius asked. 

"Why?" spat Wormtail. "You wish to go to him again, after you failed a task that needed to be completed?" 

"You fool, I succeeded in my task. I have matters to deal with him, also," said Lucius venomously. He looked lazily at Wormtail. "Not that it's any of your concern. And my sources tell me that you were involved in that . . . ah . . . candle incident?" 

Wormtail dropped his wand with a loud clatter. 

Lucius smiled coldly and bent down to pick it up. "Now then, Wormtail," he said, twirling the wand before his fingers, calmly sitting in the chair. "Tell me everything that has happened since the days of the ceremony." 

Wormtail fervently shook his head back and forth. "I didn't do it!" 

Lucius said nothing. He just smirked. 

"You _must_ know, please, my friend, Lucius," pleaded Wormtail desperately. 

Lucius kept silent once more. His gray eyes glittered with malice as he gripped Wormtail's wand. "Friend?" spat Lucius finally. "Bah. Don't make me hex you. Now speak, and I shall spare the Dark Lord the news of your stupidity." 

What could Wormtail do? He knew he had botched the branding ceremony. It was not a huge accident, but it could be fatal to both the Malfoy child and the Dark Lord if handled carefully. He hung his head and began to speak. 

And all the while, Lucius sat there and listened with an odd gleam in his eyes. 

**

-x-x-

**

After sitting in silence for about half an hour, Hermione and Draco were almost both asleep their chairs. They were incredibly tired to begin with and sitting in silence with nothing to do made them thoroughly exhausted. The office was blissfully silent. Mrs. Norris crawled away somewhere out of their sights, obviously not wanting to be hexed again. 

Hermione could hear Draco yawn. She followed the pattern and rested her head on the arm of the chair. She was beginning to doze off, and it felt extremely satisfying. 

Suddenly, she was rudely jerked from her daze by the sudden creak from the door. 

"Get UP!" roared Filch. 

Hermione groaned quietly and lifted her heavy head up. The corners of Draco's eyes were red. Hermione noticed that the caretaker's nose was fixed. She sighed and yawned once more, disappointed. She wished Filch kept his pig snout. At least that was something that could have lightened her dreary mood. 

"Imagine," snarled Filch. He strode towards his desk. "Two students who are idle during their detention." He clucked with his tongue and sat down on his chair. "Imagine what the professors would say." 

Filch smirked at both of them and picked up a quill when he scrunched up his eyebrows. He bent down and picked up a small, furry, object. "Mrs. Norris?" he asked incredulously. The cat purred back desolately. Her left legs twitched. 

"What's wrong? Why are you twitching?" 

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat. 

Filch glowered at the students. "You two! You two did something to my cat, didn't you!" 

"No!" started Hermione. "It's just that -- that she fell off the . . . the --" 

"The desk! She -- er -- tripped over something and fell. We tried to help her, but she wouldn't let us get near her," Draco supplied. 

Filch rose up from his chair. "Do you think I'm stupid? You hexed my cat!" 

"We didn't --" 

"I cannot believe this. Even when in trouble already --" sneered Filch. 

Before either Hermione or Draco had a chance to respond, the headmaster walked in through the door and smiled pleasantly at the caretaker. "Fancy seeing you here Argus!" he cried in surprise, glancing at Draco and Hermione. 

"Headmaster," he said in an oily voice, the sneer on his face molding into a polite smile. "Of course I would be here. Have you heard differently?" 

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he smiled. "Well, the last I heard, you were chasing Peeves down the whole bottom corridor. According to General Tarcloune, of course." 

General Tarcloune was a ghost who wandered down the bottom floors often, moaning about tripping and dying upon his own sword. 

"Yes, well," Filch spat, "Peeves has been causing a lot of troubles nowadays." 

"Yes," said Dumbledore. He looked over at Hermione and Draco. "And I hope our partners in crime aren't causing trouble." 

Draco snorted and crossed his arms. Hermione merely blushed. Partners in crime indeed. 

Filch looked at the students and snarled, "They are a rowdy lot, I tell you that. But that's not why you are here, correct?" Filch mumbled something under his breath to Dumbledore. 

Dumbledore mumbled something back to Filch, not at all audible to the students. 

Surprisingly, Filch shook his head in the most calm manner and motioned for Dumbledore out to the hallway. "No, headmaster, there is also something regarding the -- ah -- current events that need discussing," he mumbled. 

The headmaster rubbed his chin and nodded. He made his way outside of the office as Hermione and Draco's eyes closely trailed them. Filch followed and Dumbledore said in an airy tone. "Just a minute of his time, Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy. Be patient, I'm sure that you both will be enthused by your next task." 

Hermione resisted and urge to protest as Filch, reviving his nasty attitude, snarled towards the two students. 

As soon as the door was closed, Hermione sank deeply into her chair. Mrs. Norris hissed at her. 

She glanced at Draco who was staring intently at the ground. He must have felt her staring at him so he sharply turned his head to look at Hermione. She quickly reverted her eyes to the cat, inwardly moaning. This was going to be a long night. 


	7. The Late Meeting

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 7: The Late Meeting   
By Callisto Callispi 

Hermione jumped when Filch slammed the door and waltzed happily into the classroom. He turned away calmly from Hermione and Draco, avoiding their eyes though they could see his. They were glittering gleefully. 

"Well my pupils, shall we continue our happy detention?" he asked. 

Filch reached down his desk to grab Mrs. Norris and stroked her back. The cat purred gently in response, but still twitched. However, Filch took no note of his cat, surprisingly, and stared off dreamily as he sat down. "Though my greatest wish is to split the two of you up to make your separate jobs a bit more challenging --" 

The two students' eyes brightened at the suggestion. 

But Filch wasn't finished. "-- It is just not possible as Professor McGonagall insisted that the two of you work together to increase the harmony." 

The two slumped back in their chairs with another sigh and thought simultaneously, _What harmony?_

"For your next task," continued Filch. "I was to assign you to clean the dungeon halls. Horribly slimy they were. But those god-awful gremlins from the swamps came to feed, and now the halls are spick and rather clean . . ." 

Draco spoke up. "So . . . er . . . to go easy on the first day, you will let us both go early?" 

Filch laughed. "Goodness no!" He slapped his desk as if he had heard some brilliant joke. "What . . . what in the _world_ gave you that absurd idea?" he managed to choke out in-between his laughs. 

Draco's lips curled downward. "It was a faint hope." 

Filch slowly sobered and began speaking. 

"Head down into the Slytherin dungeons," he instructed. "There, you will find a rusty chest. Haul it up into the library and open the chest with this key." He displayed a shiny bronze key. "Inside, you will find books, and be careful not to rip them as they are valuable. If you do though, there will be a hefty price to pay. And do not attempt to use any of those charms on the chest. It is spell-proof until you empty it." 

Hermione inwardly groaned. She had _no_ desire whatsoever to continue working with Draco anymore tonight. Or any other night for that matter. 

"After you take the books down into the library, head over to Madame Pince's cart for the new book arrivals. By color, carefully set them down. It will take a about an hour or so. If I find that you two have been lazy and didn't complete the task, I will personally go over to Professors Snape and McGonagall and inform them of your sloppy work." 

Hermione slumped down deeper into her chair, hating Filch more and more by the passing second. She briefly glanced over at Draco only to see a scowl plastered on his face. 

"And also, you can not use magic," continued Filch happily. 

Draco suddenly sat up. "Why not?" he demanded. 

Filch smiled and stroked Mrs. Norris' back once more. She purred. Her legs twitched. "Because, Mister Malfoy, as I have told you, the chest is resistant to magic. I suppose the books are also. The headmaster informed me of this but do point those despicable wands. It's your punishment, not mine." 

Draco muttered something under his breath. 

Filch ignored him, getting up. "Now, if you would so kindly remove yourselves from my office, all will be well." 

Hermione immediately got up and so did Draco and walked out, glancing at the clock. It read '10:03' and next to it said 'To the Dungeons'. 

Hermione glanced at Draco once more to see his face twisted with an angry frown. She kept to herself the whole time and did not say anything to Draco. Worries haunted her. She wondered how ever she would ever get her school work done. "During lunch I could get my assignments completed," she said out loud before she could stop herself. 

"Good idea, Granger," said Draco sarcastically from next to her. "Or Binn's class would be nice. No one listens to him anyway," he said with a slightly arrogant gesture of his hand. 

Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing better to listen to him. "Just like you," she said tentatively not knowing if she wanted to start a conversation with him. "Professor Binns gives out essays, and those are by far the most difficult to complete." 

"He doesn't know what he is talking about himself. The students wouldn't understand one word that the old fart is saying," he mumbled then yawned. 

Hermione felt her face break into a small grin. Despite his sarcastic tone, Hermione couldn't help but to agree with him a bit. "You're cruel." 

"I'm a Malfoy, and I am in Slytherin. What do you truly expect?" said Draco dismissively. 

Hermione tilted her lips upwards and didn't reply to that comment. She couldn't help thinking how detention would be a bit more bearable if the person next to her were a bit more agreeable like this. 

In about ten minutes, the two reached the stairs of the dungeon. Hermione paused, a tingle of worry prickling her skin with goose bumps. It was awfully dark down there . . . 

Draco, however, started his way down the stairs without any hesitation then stopped about halfway down. He looked up impatiently. "Well, Granger?" he called. "Are you going to come down here this century? I'd prefer to get this done and over with as soon as I possibly can." 

When Hermione didn't answer, Draco's snarl got nastier. But she started down the steps silently. Draco leaned against the wall and watched her form descending down the steps. His snarl molded into an amused grin. "Are you all right walking down those dark scary stairs, Granger? Do you require any assistance?" 

Hermione looked down at him, annoyed. "No _thank_ you, Malfoy. How kind of you to ask." 

"And they say that Gryffindors are the bravest of people . . . " was Draco's response. 

After a few minutes the two entered the dungeon's main room. True to Filch's word, they found a huge rusty chest. It had once seemed to be made of iron and wood but because of age, the materials were almost rotted away. 

The students gaped at what they saw though. The chest was squeezed in a corner by furniture and a grandfather clock. Hermione fell to her knees and groaned. "How can we get all of this junk off? Those things must weigh a ton!" 

Draco, not one to be intimidated easily, took out his wand. 

Hermione, noticing this, jumped up and snatched the wand from Draco's hand. "Are you mad? What are you doing?" she demanded. 

Suddenly Hermione was regretting that she had yelled. The sound of her voice echoed about the dungeons, sending chills up her spine. 

"Give me back my wand, Granger," Draco snarled, raising his voice also. 

Hermione put a finger to her lips, handing back the wand. "Shh! Don't yell." 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "And why not?" 

Hermione thought about it for a second. She didn't want him to think that some echo had spooked her; oh that would be a great laugh. "Do you want to wake up the whole school?" 

"Granger, this is the dungeon. The school is many, many stories above us. They probably couldn't hear someone going through bloody torture and murder here," said Draco. 

"You know, that is so 'Slytherin' of you. 'Bloody torture and murder'; that's a nice. Very nice," snapped Hermione. She whipped around and walked over to an armchair. Taking in a deep breath, she gripped the handles and lifted it up a few inches before having to drop it down again. 

Draco on the other hand stared at her incredulously. "Are you _scared_?" 

Hermione blinked, trying fight down the flush flooding her cheeks. "O-of course not; of what would I be scared?" 

Draco twirled the wand in between his fingers. He walked over to Hermione and grinned. "I don't know, Granger. Except that the fact that you were a bit jumpy while going down those stairs. And the fact that you're afraid of your own echo. Hm. I really don't know how I came to the conclusion that the oh-so-smart and oh-so-brave Gryffindor would actually be afraid of this corpse-ridden place." 

Hermione turned. He smiled wryly at her. "Don't try to frighten me, Malfoy; it won't work. Besides, there are no corpses here." 

"Oh I don't know," Draco said in a sing-song voice. "Corpses don't have to be out in the open to just be there you know. They could be buried up, or stacked in the walls or . . . even be under the tile you're standing on." 

Hermione looked down and jumped back with a barely muffled scream escaping her lips. She instantaneously regretted doing that as she heard Draco's low chuckle. She glared at him. "You aren't very funny you know." She noticed that Draco still had the wand in his hand. "What are you doing? Put that wand away!" 

"You know that with magic we won't have to move that furniture and that clock by hand, don't you?" 

"Yes," said Hermione, irritated. "Of course I do, Malfoy. But didn't you hear what Filch had said? No magic." 

Draco sighed exasperated. "He said not to use magic on the chest. Not the surrounding materials, Granger." 

"But the chest is magic-resistant! What if the spells rebound back?" Hermione insisted. 

Draco's lips twitched in annoyance. "It won't rebound Granger. And if it does, which it _won't_, what would matter? It just a 'feather-weight' charm." 

Hermione stared at him sternly for a few seconds then sighed. "Fine, Malfoy. Do it your way, but make sure you take all the blame if the spell does rebound and causes any damage," said Hermione as she stepped away from the book. 

Draco rolled up the sleeves of his robes up. "Don't worry, my dear Gryffindor -- I will make sure to make it seem as if you were the cause of all the trouble." 

"Do cast the charm," said Hermione dryly. 

Draco pointed his wand and muttered the incantation. Hermione crossed her fingers, hoping that Malfoy was right. A first for her. Expecting something, Hermione winced as soon as the words were out of his mouth. She waited a few anxious moments. Nothing happened and the silence still loomed about the room. Draco lowered his wand. 

"See?" he declared proudly. "I told you nothing would happen." 

Rather die than admit that he was right verbally, Hermione pushed him out of the way and moved the furniture around. It seemed strange that those massive chairs that were probably about twenty times the weight of Hermione were being carried so easily in her hands. 

After the clock and the furniture were put away, Hermione and Draco both lifted the heavy chest by the small handles attached to the side of the iron. But damn, was it heavy! Even with Hermione and Draco's strength combined, the could hardly walk more than ten steps. 

Almost half an hour later, however, the two had managed to get out of the dungeons and up the stairs to the library. 

Hermione's arms were burning with strain. The iron chest must have weighed a few hundred pounds. And that was only the chest. Inside were the books to be accounted for. Without warning, she dropped her end of the chest. 

"Good God, Granger, you can't be tired already!" yelled Draco. 

Hermione sat down on the carpeted floor and leaned her back against the chest for support. "We've carried this thing a long way, Malfoy. Let's just rest for a second." 

Draco looked as if he were about to argue but soon gave in to the temptation of rest and sat down on the floor as well. "You know we rested a few minutes before." 

Hermione massaged her shoulders. "Try twenty minutes ago, Malfoy." She was dreadfully tired and longed for bed. Any thoughts of finishing her school work when she got back to the Gryffindor commons fled her mind, chased away by the almost brutal desire for a long, dreamless slumber. 

"All right, all right, enough of this nonsense," said Draco from behind her. "Get up so we can get this over with." 

Hermione moaned but unwillingly got up nonetheless. She gripped the handle and hauled up the heavy chest. Slowly they once again progressed toward the library. 

"I was thinking, Malfoy," said Hermione suddenly. 

Draco grunted. "You do too much of that." 

Hermione ignored him. "Do we have the key to the library? I don't recall Filch giving you or me one, and Madame Pince always locks up after eight o'clock." 

"You worry too much, Granger," was Draco's response. "Alohamora." 

"It doesn't work on the library lock, Malfoy." 

"Well, Filch, that bastard, probably had Madame Pince keep the door unlocked. After all, he was probably scheming this detention hours before you or I came down there." 

Hermione kept silent. She was starting to think that he was right once again but a thought struck her mind. "No!" she suddenly said. 

Draco looked at her, surprised. "No what? What is it now?" 

Hermione dropped the chest once more. Caught off guard, as Hermione always warned him beforehand when she was about to drop the chest, Draco had to jump back to avoid having his foot crushed by the chest. 

"A little close, don't you think?" snapped Draco. 

Hermione shook her head and said, "No, Malfoy, Filch wasn't planning this at all. Remember the slime that we were supposed to clean? Remember how the swamp gremlins had got to it before? What is this? We did all of that work for nothing?" 

Draco huffed. "Calm down. I'm sure Filch unlocked the door or something. Let's just get to the library before jumping to conclusions. Now come on and hurry up. You aren't tired again are you?" 

Hermione stamped her foot and glared at him. "What do you think, Malfoy? I'm stuck with you the whole night! My arms are aching from this chest, and yes I am tired. So tired I could fall asleep while carrying the chest. Aren't you?" 

"Just carry that side," sneered Draco. "And don't think I enjoyed this night either. Being stuck with you is not the greatest thing in the world. If I had known it would be this damn unbearable, I wouldn't have even looked you at that stupid quidditch practice." 

Hermione, cranky from the lack of sleep, dropped her side of the chest again. 

Once more the chest just managed to miss Draco's foot. "Damn it, Granger, pick up the chest!" 

Hermione glared. "You know what? Maybe this detention would be a bit more bearable if you acted human once in awhile." 

Draco dropped the chest also. Her fists were clenched. "Human? _Fucking_ human? I've been acting with nothing but courtesy this detention. You're lucky that I didn't hex you when I laid eyes on you tonight." 

"Courtesy? _Courtesy_! You call spitting out 'mudblood' every other minute 'courtesy'?" Hermione demanded. "You're delusional!" 

Draco wanted to slap her. This was all that he could expect from low-level mudbloods like her: scorn, anger, and childish accusations. "I'm not delusional," he spat out. "And why shouldn't I call you a mudblood? It's what you are, Granger. Live with it." 

Hermione blinked. Her lips parted slightly, and Draco felt a cold surge of satisfaction chilling his body. 

"Aw. You're hurt, aren't you?" he sneered. "Run away, Granger. Run away, and go cry your eyes out." 

Her eyes narrowed. Draco felt sudden heat bubbling up in his throat as she straightened her back and walked towards the chest. She knelt and hauled up the case by the handles. Her words were cold, dripping with spite. "No use just standing here. Lift your side up." 

Draco clenched his jaw. Could he not make her cry? How was he so unable to hurt her? Stiff with anger, he walked over to the chest and lifted the handle. He wished that he had never gotten out of bed yesterday. He wished that he and Hermione had never participated in that silly duel. It wasn't worth it. 

After about four more rests and more sweating, grunting, and cursing, they finally approached the library doors. Draco heard Hermione sigh with relief as soon as she dropped the chest and grazed her fingers upon the smooth oak of the doors. He watched her briefly as she massaged her arms with a wince. 

"Well, we didn't die getting this massive thing up," said Hermione, exhausted. 

Draco didn't answer as he stifled a yawn and stretched his arms. 

Hermione sat on the chest. 

"Nuh-uh, Granger. Get up," he said. "We still have to carry this thing into the library." 

Hermione looked up and Draco. Her eyes were rimmed with red. "You know, I'm shocked at your lack of manners." 

"I'm actually a very polite person, Granger. You, I just like to anger." 

Hermione stared at the doors to the library. "Tell me this, Malfoy. What are we going to do if those doors over there are locked?" 

Draco pondered this for a moment before answering. "Then we will hunt down that nasty bastard Filch and force his lazy arse up here to open the doors for us." 

Hermione stared at Draco. "Brilliant plan." 

Draco faced Hermione, eyes narrowing. "Do you have any ideas then, Granger? Now don't be shy. I would be enthralled to hear any of your profound schemes." 

Hermione glared for a moment at Draco. "All right, then. Check those doors." 

Draco looked outraged at the prospect. "And why must I take orders from a Gryffindor?" 

Muttering under her breath, Hermione stood up. "Oh, whine about it, spoilt Slytherin _child_. I sometimes worry about you, Malfoy. Really, if it weren't for your precious servants at that manor of yours, I would be surprised how you get your hide up in the morning . . . _NO_!" 

Draco looked up. "What is it now?" 

Hermione looked at Draco. "Remember when I asked you what you would do if the door to the library were locked?" 

Draco groaned. "No, you are kidding me! The door is locked!" 

Hermione didn't answer. 

"Brilliant! Bloody fucking brilliant!" ranted Draco as he pulled on the door. "Maybe you turned the knob the wrong way." 

"I've been in and out of the library this year more times than you have ever been in all your seven years at Hogwarts," Hermione said coldly. "I know how to turn a knob, this one especially, thank you." 

Draco began to pace, muttering to himself. "Say, Granger, you don't think that we, I especially, would get in big trouble if we just left this chest here? After all, it's due to Filch's infinite idiocity that we are in this unpleasant predicament." 

Hermione was going to say something about how much he was currently damaging his own pride by asking something of a Gryffindor but decided against it. "Yes, Malfoy, I do think we will get punished. Severely, in fact, as Filch will claim that it was pure laziness on our part that we didn't get this task completed." 

"Damn," murmured Draco, still pacing. He suddenly looked at Hermione. "Why didn't you get the library keys from Filch, Granger? You said that you go in and out of the library often and you should have know it was closed!" 

Anger flushed Hermione's face. "You're blaming this on me?" 

Draco glared at her and continued to pace. "All right, all right," he started. "Let's not get too excited here." 

Hermione looked as if she were about to sock Draco right on the nose. 

"Say, you are friendly with that kook, Dumbledore. Why don't you ask him for the keys to the library? Or Madame Pince, she knows you pretty well. How about asking her?" 

"Are you mad? I can't do both option 'a' or 'b'!" 

"Why not?" inquired Draco. 

Hermione gaped. The ignorance of this boy! "What do you expect me to say, first of all. Go to the headmaster's sleeping quarters and knock on the door? 'Um, excuse me, headmaster? It's Hermione Granger, and I was wondering if you could possibly give me the keys to the library? Malfoy, being the ingenious Slytherin that he is, forgot to get them from Mister Filch.'" 

"Somewhere along the lines of that." 

"And you can forget Madame Pince. Just completely forget about her." 

"Well, what do we propose that we do? I'm tired, sore, and want to get away from you!" whined Draco. 

"Do _stop_ your annoying griping! I'm already with an awful headache. Don't worsen it." 

"I'm being serious, Granger." 

"So am I. The sound of your voice is just . . . unpleasant." 

"Strange. Most women enjoy hearing me speak," Draco leered. 

Hermione looked at him skeptically. "Could you be more egotistical?" 

"I'm not egotistical. I'm telling the truth," Draco remarked. 

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Of all the people in this whole school to be partnered with, he had to be the one! Of course, there weren't many people that she would duel with, and so spontaneously at that! It was his bothersome talent, she supposed, to somehow twist the very core of her nerves and unleash an anger that no one had ever unleashed. 

"Okay, let's just shut up and think about this seriously," said Hermione. 

Draco's lip quirked. "I thought we were. A simple solution really. Go to that kook, Dumbledore, and ask him for the keys." 

"Malfoy! Dumbledore is not a kook! And no, I am not going to him to ask for the keys!" Hermione said firmly, stamping her foot down for emphasis. 

"Oh? He's not a kook?" accused Draco. "Who in the right mind would allow Potter to come back to school even after all the rules he'd broken during his time at Hogwarts? No one but a Grade A kook." 

Hermione gawked. "Why do you hate Professor Dumbledore so much? I mean, sure he's kind towards Harry and . . ." She trailed off. "Okay, we are getting off-topic again." 

"Like I said: go --" 

"I am not going to Dumbledore and that is final!" 

Draco glared at her. "Well think of something. I hope you don't expect me to spend the night here with this chest until Madame Pince comes to the library to open up for the day." 

Hermione scowled at Draco. "We are _not_ going to spend the night here. You do some thinking too! You said before that I do too much of it!" 

"Too much of what?" 

"Thinking, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. 

So the two sat in silence, wondering how to open the doors all the while trying to fight off the fatigue that clouded their minds like a plague. 

Finally, Draco calmly walked over to the door. He got out the key which used to open the chest and walked toward the door. 

"Malfoy? What are you doing?" asked Hermione. 

"Trying to open the door, obviously. Not very observant, are you?" he snapped. 

Hermione frowned. "I don't think it'll work." 

"Oh really?" asked Draco smugly. 

The door swung open. 

Hermione stood there. "Oh." 

Draco smirked. "That's attractive, Granger. You look just like a fish." 

Hermione shut her mouth immediately. Feeling the heat rise up to her cheeks, she looked away from Draco to the chest. "Well? Come on now, let's get this inside." 

Draco walked over. "You're telling me I need to learn some manners. Not even a thank you." 

Hermione didn't bother answering him. She maintained her scowl and entered the dark library. "I wonder why Filch didn't tell us that this key would open the library." 

Draco shrugged. "He probably thought that we should be able to figure this out on our own." 

Hermione frowned. And to think that she considered spending the night outside the library doors with this stupid git. Though she did say that they weren't going to spend the night there, she was seriously bearing in mind to do just that. Detention for a month? She'd rather sleep outside the library door than get into more trouble. It was bad enough that Professor McGonagall had sent her parents a letter. "How did you know that the key would open for the library doors?" 

The two walked over to the huge wooden cart. To their great relief, the cart's shelves were labeled 'green', 'blue', 'black', and 'red'. 

Draco shrugged. "I figured there was no other option." 

"I see," said Hermione, dropping the chest onto the ground. She breathed out and looked over at Draco who already had the key out. 

Draco moved towards the chest. "Move, Granger," he said curtly. He bent down to the lock. He roughly shoved the key in and turned. 

Hermione didn't quite know what she would expect. But she knew it was anything but this. When Draco opened the chest, she held her breath. And was extremely disappointed by what was in there. Inside the chest sat about fifty or so copies of books. They were in relatively good condition, looking as if they were about fifty years old, and each had either a green, blue, black, or red cover. They were without any titles or the author's names. 

Gingerly picking up a book, Hermione examined it. It had a black cover on it. She carefully opened it. "What in the world . . . " she started. "Malfoy! Come over here." 

Draco hesitantly peered over Hermione's shoulder. 

"Look at the writing here. It's . . . it's gibberish! Do you know what language this is?" she asked, tilting the book to help Draco see the text better. 

Draco perused the page and shook his head. "I don't think so." 

Hermione closed the book and stacked it up on the shelf labeled 'black.' "Do you suppose that Madame Pince has gotten these sets of books so that she could translate them? How fascinating! Perhaps I could help her." 

Draco snorted. He grabbed the books mindlessly and set them in the proper shelf. "I don't really know, Granger. But see, there is one problem. For a month I have been condemned to serve detention with you. I doubt that you will have any free time on your hands." 

Realizing this suddenly, her happy mood deflated. "Just great. Fan-bloody-tastic," she muttered. 

After a few minutes, Hermione and Draco managed to settle half of the books away. Suddenly, a book fell to the floor. Draco looked up to find Hermione staring down at a book with a red cover on it. 

He sighed. "You did hear Filch say that these books would tear easily, right?" 

Hermione nodded, annoyed. "Of course." She picked up the book again and winced. 

"What's the matter?" 

"I -- I don't know. But when I touch it, I can feel something pulsing. Like . . . a vein. It's strange. But now it's fading." She held up the book and examined it. When she found nothing different, she shrugged a bit and set it on the shelf label 'red.' 

"Well, Malfoy," she said after some time. "Are we done? Do we need to do anything else? What are we going to do about that chest?" She pointed at the now empty chest. 

Draco didn't answer for a few moments but finally said, "Just leave it here. I'm sure it is light enough that Madame Pince can put away herself. And Filch can't get us in trouble for leaving a chest here." 

Hermione nodded, satisfied. She looked around for a clock. "Well, I suppose our detention is quite finished for tonight," Hermione said. She turned around and walked towards the door. 

And that was the last she had heard from him that night. Hermione ran all the way to the Gryffindor Common room. She never liked the Hogwarts castle in the dark. Shadows pranced around her, whispering fears into her ear. And despite herself, Draco's talk about corpses had unsettled her more than she showed. 

Her heart raced and raced, refusing to stop, as she ran. And not until she woke up the Fat Lady, uttered the password, and climbed into the Commons did she allow herself to relax. 

"Oh! Harry? Ron?" 

She smiled, seeing her two friends, heads down on a table, asleep, with a chessboard between them. Had they waited for her? She quietly walked over to the two and shook Harry's shoulder, waking him up. 

"Nigeria!" he said, sitting up. "The Distunc Dust is found in the plains of Nigeria, where . . . where . . . Hermione?" 

Hermione smiled. "Actually, it's the Amazon Rain Forest. Tambunc Dust is from Nigeria." 

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. He settled his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and grinned. 

"What were you and Ron doing? Don't tell me you were studying," she chided softly. 

"Aw, Hermione, we were waiting for you." 

Hermione pulled a chair next to him. "You shouldn't have. You knew that I was going to be back late. You and Ron should have just gone to bed." 

Shrugging, Harry took his rook off of the chessboard and started fiddling around with it. "Actually, Hermione, it was Ron who convinced me to wait for you. A quote. 'Harry, we should really wait for Hermione and see if that nasty bastard --' I assume it was either Filch or Malfoy, probably Malfoy '-- did anything to her. If he did, we can go kill him.'" 

Hermione laughed quietly and soon enough, Harry joined in. "Really Harry. I don't think that Malfoy would hurt me physically." 

Harry's eyes hardened suddenly. "Yes, but his attitude towards you over the last six years doesn't calm our hearts easily." 

Hermione sighed. "Malfoy is a bully, Harry," started Hermione. "But I don't think he would want to get into any more trouble." 

Harry nodded. "Over the years, I have learned one lesson. Never trust a Malfoy." He laughed. "I'll just have to have faith in you. But I'm not really sure about Ron. You know how brash he is." He glanced at Ron for a short time. 

Smiling, Hermione nodded. She stood up. "Well come on, Harry. You're haggard. Get some rest." 

Harry stood up and stretched, yawning. "You rest too. Don't work on any school work. Ron and I took a lot of notes for you. You want mine or his?" 

Hermione scrunched up her nose. Ron's notes were usually doodled on. "I'd prefer yours, thanks." 

Harry grinned. "All right. I'll wake up Ron. You get to rest, Hermione. And remember, no school work. You look like shit. You need your beauty sleep." 

Hermione stared down at Harry. "Thanks. You know, I envy your eloquence." 

"I know you do." 

Nodding, Hermione turned around and headed over to her head girl room. She briefly glanced at Harry, poking Ron. She smiled softly and couldn't help thinking, _Thanks Harry._


	8. The Murder of Harry Potter

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 8: The Murder of Harry Potter   
By: Callisto Callispi 

A few days passed since their first detention. Luckily, Draco and Hermione's bodies were intact, and no blood had been shed . . . which was a good show of their tolerance towards each other. 

But on this particular day, there was to be much rivalry, not just between Hermione and Draco, but between all Gryffindors and Slytherins in general. The two houses both buzzed with excitement. This was the day that the long awaited quidditch match between the Gryffindors and Slytherins was to be held. 

One person who wasn't very excited (quite on the contrary, in actuality) was Hermione. She stared dully at her plate of hash and sausage, trying not to fall asleep. She had a long night. In addition to detention, she had to finish a half-a-meter length essay on the use of growth fungus for giants. 

Attended: Transfiguration, Herbology, Ancient Runes, Metaphysics, History of the World of Magic. 

To Attend: _POTIONS_. Ugh. 

Potions was torture as always. The classroom was uncomfortably warm and darkened; the lesson was utterly dull. She could barely keep her eyes open, but Hermione always caught herself before nodding off. She couldn't lose anymore points from Gryffindor. She already had minus one hundred on her record. Ouch. 

"Now," started the professor. "Does everyone understand how to stew lacewings?" He glared at everyone in the room then smiled unpleasantly. "Excellent. Prepare yourselves for a test tomorrow on the properties of lacewings and the method of stewing it." 

The whole class shifted uncomfortably. 

Snape's eyes roamed around the class. His eyes lingered a bit on Hermione but then shifted towards Pansy instead. "Now then, Miss Parkinson, please briefly explain how to initiate the preparations for stewing lacewings." 

"U-um, well," stammered Pansy next to Hermione. "We will have to collect the lacewings --" 

Hermione rolled her eyes. _Brilliant. Couldn't have guessed that, you stupid cow._

"-- And then we will have to get a cauldron that can withstand extreme temperatures." She looked at Professor Snape hopefully. "Is that enough professor?" 

"That was sufficient, Miss Parkinson," said Snape. 

Pansy beamed. 

"Now Miss Granger," Snape snarled. "Care to tell us why we use a certain kind of cauldron?" 

_"Yes, I would mind terribly. Tell those witless Slytherins to read the books and figure it out on their own."_

Ah, how sweet those words would have tasted. 

Hermione repressed a small sigh. "The best choice of cauldron would be a small, steel one without any iron ore in it. The lacewings would have to be boiled at extreme temperatures and the iron ore might and most likely will melt into the brew. It would be fatal to any human if consumed." 

Even with that lengthy and detailed explanation, Snape still didn't seem to be satisfied. "How would one brew the lacewings?" 

Hermione answered without trepidation. "One must pluck the stringy hair-like tentacles out to avoid poisoning from the plant itself since the tentacles release a venom when exposed to boiling water. It's best to brew the lacewings for at least fifteen days, for if the lacewings are added prematurely to the Polyjuice Potion, the consumer would have to go through an excruciatingly painful transformation stage." 

Snape threw Hermione a seething look and turned to the class. She glared. 

"You know," whispered Pansy, leaning over. "You are lucky that you are such a know-it-all, Granger." She looked over at Snape to make sure that his back was still towards their direction. "I suppose that mudblood hags must have at least one redeeming quality." 

Hermione's hands shook. "I can see the green envy in your face. So your parents are witch and wizard. What else but that heritage do you have? Wit? Power? Not as far as I can see." 

Pansy bit her lip in fury. She opened her mouth to respond to Hermione's barb but instead raised her hand. "Excuse me, Professor Snape?" 

The professor turned around. "Yes Miss Parkinson?" 

Hermione's brows furrowed. Was Pansy trying to get her in any trouble? 

But Pansy didn't seem angry at the time. She was impassive as she addressed the professor. "May I be excused for a moment to clear my head? I smell something putrid and dirty." She turned her head to glance at Hermione. The whole class murmured. 

However, Snape said in a pleasant voice, "Yes, go ahead, Miss Parkinson." 

Someone stood up. Harry. Snape glared at him, stopping him cold in his position. Harry and Snape stared angrily at each other for a few tantalizing seconds and finally, defeated, Harry sat painfully back down. 

Pansy slowly stood up and walked out of the room. 

Hermione, on the other hand, stared down on her paper with her quill erect in her hand. That quill quivered. Her breathing was hot and painful. She felt boiling, angry tears prick her eyes, but for the sake of her pride, she kept them inside. She hated her. 

After finishing his lecture, Snape assigned cauldrons and bags of lacewings. 

Hermione sat down by herself with the bag of lacewings and the cauldron and started to compile her ingredients for the potion. 

"Hey there," said a smooth voice behind her. 

Hermione almost mistook that to be Malfoy. She whipped around to tell him to wank off, but then paused as she saw a completely different face. Blaise Zabini. 

Surprised, she answered. "Yes?" 

Blaise pointed to the bag of lacewings on her table. "Could I use some of your lacewings?" 

She looked suspiciously at Blaise. "Why would you need it?" 

Blaise's eyes narrowed. "We don't have enough. Is that fine with you?" 

"Why don't you go to Professor Snape then?" 

"I did," said Blaise. "He told me to ask you." Blaise grinned mischievously. "Besides, you wouldn't want your boyfriend, Potter, to fail would you? He's my partner." 

Hermione glared momentarily at Blaise. "He's _not_ my boyfriend. And take your stupid lacewings. How much do you need?" 

Blaise gave a toothy grin. "Just one eighth would be all right, thanks." 

Hermione carefully split the lacewings and handed it over to Blaise. He took it and said, "My regards to Pansy," and strolled off. 

Hermione stared momentarily at Blaise then turned her head away to add the lacewings to her own cauldron. The water inside it turned into a sickly sort of purple as the lacewings released their juice. There was no smell, thankfully. Sighing and bored, Hermione stirred her lacewings steadily. 

Pansy soon entered the classroom. "Thanks, professor," she said briskly and walked over to Hermione. "I have such a sensitive nose to disgusting, smelly things. I dislike pigs, cows, hens . . . strange how they sort of smell like muddy, muddy mudbloods, eh? Ha ha." Pansy sat down. 

Hermione cursed. She should have pulled the chair away under her. Now _that_ would have been a laugh. 

**X**

Draco stole a quick glance over in Hermione and Pansy's direction. He tried to tell himself that it was Pansy that he had his eyes on, but they betrayed him and strayed over to Hermione. Draco was almost fascinated, really. Her pale left hand stirred the potion steadily. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration as she wrote down her observations onto the parchment. 

"She's quite the one to look at, that Hermione Granger, isn't she?" said a masculine voice behind Draco. 

Draco whipped around and glowered at the person who spoke. "Blaise Zabini." 

Blaise, who seemed unperturbed by Draco's icy stare, continued. "So. Do tell: are you two an item? Have you been caught snogging yet?" 

"Don't be stupid, Zabini. It doesn't really suit you," sneered Draco. 

Blaise grinned a bit and sat down in Ron's seat (whose owner was seat speaking with Harry Potter at the moment). "So how is that detention going? Enjoying it?" 

"I have a month left. Do you think that I would enjoy it?" said Draco acidly. "Now quite wasting my time. What do you want?" 

Blaise's cheery demeanor seemed to take a plunge. His dark eyes grew serious. "It's about _certain_ issues." 

Draco narrowed his eyes. The subject of the 'certain' issue was undoubtedly the Dark Lord, Voldemort. "What about?" 

Blaise grimaced. "He grows weaker and weaker with each passing day. He has resorted to drinking unicorn milk to sustain himself. It seems that this _heir's_ ascendance to power will come sooner than expected." 

Draco thought carefully about this. Blaise didn't know that Draco himself was the Dark Lord's heir. Draco neglected to tell him since, well, Blaise had been one of the hopeful, most likely candidates for this illustrious position. But . . . power. Draco desired it. However power also brought betrayal and murder. He had to tread carefully. "All right." 

Blaise stood up. "Good. I had better attend to my partner, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Become-a-Pain-in-the-Arse. That fool doesn't know the difference between the Hurtgort limb from the Jortgud branch. Come to think of it, I think Hermione Granger and myself are the only two students who do know." 

_Smartass little prick_, Draco thought spitefully. He hadn't know that those two things existed. 

**-x-x-**

Hermione left potions in a hurry after Snape dismissed them. She survived the two hours and was happy because of that. 

"Hullo, Hermione!" said Hagrid as he caught her in the hall. 

"Hi, Hagrid," she answered back with a small wave. But as she began to walk away, Hagrid stopped her and pulled something out of his pocket. It looked like a snitch. 

Hermione smiled. "Were these the creatures you were telling me about?" 

Hagrid nodded. "A snitcher." He pointed to its little, barely visible teeth. He held the little animal up, placing his thumbs over its little white wings so it wouldn't flap. Hermione petted it gingerly. 

"Mind that these animals have sharp teeth. Gotta have it. The only way they can tear off stringy leaves from high trees. Did yeh know: snitches in quidditch got their names from these little 'uns?" Hagrid beamed as Hermione shook her head. "I wanted ter show the firs' years. Do yeh think they'd like em'? Just got 'em today." 

Hermione nodded, and Hagrid laughed. 

"With the quidditch match going on, thought today would be right to let the firs' years see 'em." 

"Good timing," Hermione affirmed. "I'll stop by the hut later to give you my assignment -- I'm sorry that I spilled so much ink on it." 

Hagrid laughed and assured her that it was no problem. "And yeh can help me with the Snitchers, locking and feeding 'em." 

Hermione smiled. "No problem." She looked at her watch. "I'd better go, Hagrid. I'll see you later." She ran down to the Great Hall to grab a bite to eat before heading to the library to study. Since the quidditch match at hand was so early in the day, the whole school schedule was re-arranged and just plain confusing. 

"_Why_ are they re-serving this morning's sausages and cheese sandwiches during lunch?" Ron whined. 

Harry chewed slowly. "The sandwiches aren't bad, but the sausages _do_ taste a bit . . . stale, don't they." 

Hermione rearranged her food with her fork, studying it thoughtfully. "Really, I wouldn't think of this as lunch but brunch?" 

"Well, whatever it is, it won't fuel us very much for the quidditch match." said Ron. He nudged Hermione playfully. "Good thing Malfoy's playing in the field instead of in the stands, eh, Hermione?" 

She glowered at Ron. "Ron, I don't know what you are trying to say, but if you are insinuating that I will blow up the Gryffindor stands again --" 

Ron burst out into laughter. Hermione flushed deeply and continued to eat. 

Harry grinned. "You know, I really wouldn't mind if Hermione have a duel with Malfoy again. It'd be nice to see her beat him." 

The whole conversation immediately turned to quidditch. Hermione's head spun. As soon as she finished eating, she stood up and said loudly, "So," said Hermione loudly though it was physically impossible to divert a man's attention away from the prospect of sports. "I'll be leaving now, if you care, to _the library._" 

Not even a turn of the head. She gave up. Swinging her book bag, Hermione stormed out of the Great Hall. 

As soon as Hermione reached the library doors and opened it, a mist of serenity engulfed her. She entered the quiet room and looked over at the front desk. Remarkably, Madam Pince wasn't present. Slightly astonished by that fact, Hermione reached her table of the library and set her book bag down. She needed books on art. 

One of her presentations for history was about how art from the medieval era impacted the lives of witches and wizards today (which was incredibly difficult to explain -- she didn't even have her thesis yet!). And Hermione had always like art. Her interest was only more amplified when she found that entrancing painting of the dragons on her way to Arithmancy that day. When she bumped into Draco Malfoy. 

A cold chill slithered through her body. Hermione randomly grabbed an art book and flipped through it. The pictures were dull and gray, but it didn't matter as she hardly noticed any of it. Her mind was set upon those two dragons in the painting . . . and Draco Malfoy. 

For some twisted reason, the image of that painting illustrated a much clearer, brighter image of Draco Malfoy. But why? Did she really have to envision his cold eyes, so different from the warm and even fiery glow of the painting? Did she really have to so visually imagine his slender form? Did she truly have to try to decipher his ever so enigmatic attitude towards her? He was decent one minute and barbaric the other. It was starting to scare her in a way. A lone butterfly flapped its delicate wings in her stomach. She was on the verge of nausea. 

Disgusted, Hermione squeezed the book into its right spot. Hermione Granger fantasizing about a Slytherin? Ridiculous! Mostly all her life, she pushed away fanciful thoughts and faced cold reality. But her delicate outlook on life was shattered the moment she stepped into this school. Here, she met her worst enemy . . . and her greatest mystery. 

_Draco Malfoy, how I detest you so . . . and yet . . ._

Hermione grabbed another book -- a very big and heavy one. His name rang in her head. How perfectly it suited him. How malicious it sounded. 

_Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Enough to drive you insane. Stupid Draco Malfoy!_

"Granger?" 

His voice rang so clearly in the silence. Like a sharp knife, it tore through the veil of absolute silence. 

Hermione dropped her book. A thunderous crash echoed through out the cavernous library. Then the hush. 

"Draco?" she whispered. 

The words slipped from her lips. Her unwilling tongue form the words. The very syllables. 

Draco raised his eyebrows in complete amazement. 

"I-I mean," she stuttered, straining to regain her collapsed composure. "Wh-what do you want Malfoy?" 

Draco seemed tongue-tied at the moment but recovered quickly. "First off, I was wondering if you were going to pick up that book." 

Hermione stared down at the ground and bent her knees to grab the gigantic book. She hadn't even realized she dropped it. Bugger that, she had barely noticed she even picked it out from the shelves. 

"Second," Draco started once more, taking the heavy book from her and wedging it into its proper place. Hermione blinked, wondering if Draco Malfoy actually put something away for her. Then she immediately straightened as Draco continued. "I was wondering why you were standing there, so completely still, holding that massive thing." 

Hermione really had no answer for that. Her mind was a boggle. "I was trying to find books on art." She eyed Draco for a minute. Her stomach was doing flips within her. Oh, how could she address by his _first name_! How mortifying! 

He smirked at her. Hermione eyed him with annoyance. He had her trapped against the back wall of the library. Bookshelves bordered her sides and he stood in front of her with his hands lazily in his pockets. 

"Can you move?" she asked sharply. When he didn't answer, she slipped past him, her arm slightly touching his stomach. Hermione blushed as she made contact with his body. A small shiver coursed through her as she made her way to her table and flipped through the stack of books that she amassed. "Why are you here, anyway, Malfoy?" 

Draco chuckled. "To torment my favorite little Gryffindor. What else?" His eyes gleamed. "I heard what Potter said to you. Do you really think that you could beat me in a duel? Highly doubtful." 

"Knock it off. You know I can slaughter you in anything," remarked Hermione. 

Draco picked up a book of Hermione's. "I'd wager all the money I have in my main account at Gringotts. And mind you, there's enough gold in there to purchase a small country. Do you truly read this rubbish? _A Historian's Bible to the Wizard's Pastimes_. If I had just met you, I'd probably think that you pretend to read all this nonsense to uphold your image." 

She ignored him. "How did you know I was here?" 

Draco set the book down. "Please, Granger; I'm not an idiot, unlike Potter and Weasley. If they aren't with you in the dormitory, you're most likely in the library. Besides, I heard you yelling all the way from the Gryffindor table. Hard to miss that." 

Hermione didn't answer. 

"Well, Granger," said Draco, walking towards the exit. "I'll leave to your bookworm ways. Do be sure to come to the quidditch match. I want to have the satisfaction of having you see me catch the snitch before your boyfriend Potter does." 

He ducked and exited quickly before Hermione could pelt more of her quills at him. Her notebook flew dangerously close to the back of his retreating head. 

**-x-x-**

The teams were settled along the field, eyeing each other with distaste. The crowd cheered maniacally in anticipation, rooting for either the Slytherins or Gryffindors. 

"Captains shake hands," ordered Madam Hooch. She put the whistle in her palm. 

The great competition between Slytherin and Gryffindor didn't lessen over the years. If anything, it probably got hotter and fiercer. 

Harry stepped up as the team captain and shook hands with the Slytherin captain, Timmins Comfrey. Though captain, it was clear that Draco Malfoy had the greatest respect on the Slytherin team. According to the rumors, he gave up the captain position so that he could have more time for his school work and whatever else he did in his spare time. 

"Now, I want a good clean game," said Madam Hooch, staring intensely at every one of their faces. She really meant it this time. No one could forget that incident a year ago when a Slytherin keeper jumped on a Gryffindor chaser's broom after the chaser managed to buy thirty points in two minutes. She blew the whistle and released the snitch. The players kicked off and soared in the air. 

The crowd roared as they soon saw robes of green and red in the air. The players whipped around back and forth, up into the air and plunging back down. The broadcaster and announcer was Louis Jordan, the retired announcer Lee Jordan's younger brother. 

"Quaffle is held by Gryffindor chaser, Isabelle! She's heading towards the Slytherin goal posts! She throws . . . annnnnd _SCORE!_ Ten points for Gryffindor!" 

Cheers and boos thundered through out the lonely forest surrounding the school. 

"Slytherin now in possession. Tours to Imite! Imite to Tours again! Tours spins, avoiding the bludger! But the quaffle is out of control! No, Gryffindor player Romania Fields gets it! She is speeding to the Slytherin goals! She throws! No! It's blocked by the Slytherin keeper, Calvin Deutsch! But it's rebounded off the rings! Tours come up! He and Romania fight for it! Go Romania! Romania gets it and she throws! YES! It makes it into the goals! Ten points for Gryffindor!" 

The cheers increased and so did the boos. Slytherin was in possession once more. 

Harry dodged another bludger. He swore that he saw a flash of gold speeding in the right-hand direction but when he turned his head, another flash of gold was heading in the left-hand direction! What was going on with the snitch! 

That was it. That was a real streak of gold. Harry kicked his broom and he went after it. 

"It seems that Harry Potter has seen something! Oh no! And I think that Draco Malfoy has spotted something also! Both are going at top speed! But . . . _WHAT!_ Why are they going in the opposite direction? Could one be mistaken!" 

Murmurs of confusion rose in the crowds. 

"Hermione! Look!" screamed Parvati, pointing to the sky. Harry swerved. He was in the direction of Draco. The snitch seemed to be between Draco and Harry. 

They both flew after it. 

"The Seekers have both spotted the snitch! It's now just a race to see who gets there first!" 

It looked as if Harry and Draco would collide. But both veered their brooms away from each other just in time and plunged to the ground. 

"Come on, damn it," Harry heard Draco whisper. 

This just made Harry go faster. He reached out. Just a bit further! He grabbed the snitch! Gryffindor won! But surprisingly, Harry heard a yell of triumph behind him. Draco also had a snitch in his hand! 

Harry's jaw dropped. "What! What the hell! Malfoy, what are you playing at?" Harry sputtered. 

Draco smiled, victorious. "Looks like the famous Harry Potter lost his quidditch match. Slyth --" Draco was cut short as he also saw the snitch in Harry's hand. Draco's jaw dropped. 

"What? What is going on!" yelled Louis Jordan over the microphone. "It seems as if they both caught the snitch! But how is it possible! Oh my gosh, look up at the sky! Snitches galore!" 

The confused and outraged crowds looked up. And there they saw an amass of golden little flapping balls fluttering in the sky. Hundreds of them! Some students screamed and ran inside. Some laughed and pointed. 

"What the fuck!" Draco roared, looking up. 

Madam Hooch whistled madly. "Every player get down! Right now!" With her wand, she paralyzed the bludgers. "Down here! Yes and that means you two also! Hurry up, Malfoy, Potter!" 

All fourteen players assembled down on the ground and arguments began. 

"Gryffindor should win!" declared Timothy. "We were twenty points ahead!" 

"That's dung! Draco caught the snitch first! Or whatever that was! Slytherin gets the 150 points!" said the chaser called Tours. 

The Gryffindors cursed the Slytherins and vice versa. Hysteria reigned among the players. Only Harry and Draco refrained from arguing -- they merely watched with scowls plastered on their faces. 

"Enough!" screamed Madam Hooch. But they ignored her. The argument was loud enough -- the screaming of the students and the professors weren't helping to calm anyone down. Madam Hooch was red in the face. She looked almost like a tomato. "Be quiet! Danvers! Imite! Romania!" They still didn't listen. "STOP! I said _ENOUGH_!" She blew her whistle repeatedly. The arguing ceased hesitantly. The opposing team members were glaring daggers at each other. 

"Just report to the Great Hall and have your dinner there. The professors and I will have a meeting and settle this _fairly_. Now off with you lot." She got her own broomstick. "And make sure you get to the Great Hall right away. _No shortcuts, Potter, Weasley, Malfoy._ I've got to help straighten up this riffraff." 

Madam Hooch flew away on her broom and magically helped the professors on the ground paralyze the snitchers. 

The Gryffindor and Slytherin teams looked at each other disgustedly and they each flew off towards their own section of the quidditch fields. From there, they each exited. 

As the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall, a mix of applause and boos greeted them. Harry and Ron headed over to the Gryffindor table. They found Hermione chatting idly with Lavender. When she saw the two coming over, her eyes lit up. "Hey, you two!" 

Harry and Ron walked over and plopped down in their seats. 

"What a stupid twist of events," grumbled Ron. 

Hermione offered some pumpkin juice to both of them. 

"Thanks," said Harry. "Have the professors told you anything about the quidditch match? And what were those yellow flying snitch look-alikes?" Harry demanded, pounding his fist angrily on the table. 

Hermione sighed. "I haven't heard anything, and those yellow things were snitchers. Hagrid was showing them to the first years . . . I don't know how they escaped. What time is it? Oh gosh, seven o'clock already. I wish they'd serve dinner already. I have to get to detention and I don't want to go on an empty stomach." 

Harry and Ron sat glumly at the table. 

Soon their dinners appeared in front of them. It wasn't luxurious enough to be called a feast but it would do. Harry grabbed food from all around him and started to eat. So did Hermione, more fervently than him. 

As she chewed fervently on a piece of chicken, she spotted Blaise Zabini heading this way with a stack of papers in his hand. When he reached the Gryffindor table, he handed a few pages to Harry. 

Blaise took one deep breath and said without pausing, "Hello, fellow Hogwarts students. I have the delightful job of going around to tell every quidditch team captain that the game was postponed due to the confusion of the snitch issue. It turns out that our Professor Rubeus Hagrid's snitchers somehow got loose during the game. Because of that, the game between Slytherin and Gryffindor will be postponed." He gasped for air after reciting that speech in a quick yet monotonous voice and turned to leave after nodding his head toward Hermione. She blushed furiously as Ron and a few other Gryffindors stared suspiciously at her. 

"Er, hold on," said Harry. "So how are the points arranged?" 

Blaise stared at the pumpkin goblet next to Harry for a few moments. "I am but a messenger," said Blaise finally. "I don't know about the game. Probably will be settled in the next match. Well, I must be off. Got to deliver this message to the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs like I'm the damn postal service instead of a student trying to finish his metaphysics essay on time." And Blaise strolled off. 

"A very peculiar fellow. Sometimes, he doesn't act Slytherin," said Dean as he sat down next to Hermione. 

Hermione drank from her goblet of pumpkin juice. Harry took a swig from his own while scrutinizing the new schedule and wrinkled his nose. "Ridiculous! The next quidditch match is a days after we come back from winter recess. Can you believe this! Absolutely no one will be focused _right after_ vacation!" 

Hermione laughed. "Calm down. You're starting to sound like Oliver Wood." 

"That's good. Wood was a damn good captain," said Ron. 

Hermione looked down at the food in her plate. Something was bothering her. What was it? Then it hit her like a sledgehammer. She stood up suddenly. "What time is it?" she demanded. 

Dean raised both of his eyebrows. "Uh . . . five 'till eight. Why?" 

Had it been that long already? "Oh my god, I'm late!" she almost screamed as she grabbed her book bag and dashed to the exit. 

_Oh god, oh god,_ screamed Hermione in her mind. She ran so fast that she barely missed Blaise walking back towards a spot on the Slytherin table scattered with loose parchment. She missed him enough that he and she didn't collide but hard enough to bump him into a table. Blaise held Hermione by one arm and steadied the goblet of apple cider that he almost knocked over. 

"What's wrong with you?" 

Hermione turned on her heel looked over at Draco. "Malfoy, you better get down to Filch's dungeon, now!" And without further remark, Hermione sprinted out of the Great Hall. 

"What is she talking about Draco?" asked a Slytherin girl next to Draco. 

"I haven't the slightest. She's quite mad some --" Draco paused. The detention! Swearing loudly, Draco raced out of the Great Hall, almost knocking over Blaise Zabini again who was currently drinking from the apple cider that he almost spilled before. 

**X**

They entered a split second before Filch walked in the room and collapsed on their chairs, trying to catch their breaths. 

"You juveniles and your crackpot sports," cursed Filch as he slammed the door open and entered. "You know I have been doing all day? Catching those disgusting little creatures that Hagrid calls his snitchers! You know how hard that is?" 

Hermione and Draco didn't answer. 

"The quidditch field is especially dirty from the pandemonium today. Litter thrown here and there and everywhere! I expect you two to clean that all up at once. Maybe after you experience the hardships of a custodian, you'll discourage your brown-nosed classmates to not litter so. I'll be lenient. I'll grant two nights to finish up. There should be bags to store the garbage in. They are in the center of the field. I suggest you work from the center." 

Hermione looked at Filch. "Uh, are we allowed to use magic?" 

"Heavens no! This is a punishment, if you hadn't noticed. Now off with you two. Finish as much as you can and make sure you do a ruddy good job of it. I can lengthen your detention if I choose," he threatened. 

Hermione and Draco stood up, both sighing. They soon reached the quidditch field, and looked on wonder at the once green pitch. Goodness, it had been polluted. Candy bar wrappers and bags of paper were thrown everywhere. 

"Well, Granger," said Draco. "Ladies first." He gestured her over to the quidditch field. 

"Thanks a lot," mumbled Hermione. She cringed as she picked up a piece of soggy paper. How disgusting. "What's the news on today's game? Surely you've heard something." 

Draco cringed as he looked at the trash. "There's a rematch scheduled soon. I forgot the date but the game is to start with the same points. I suppose that's fair enough, though I say that since I caught the snitch first, Slytherin should have been awarded the 150 points." Draco smirked at Hermione. "I told you I'd catch it first." 

Hermione sniffed disdainfully. "For your information, Draco Malfoy, you did not catch the snitch first. Neither you nor Harry did." 

"Ah yes. But I would have gotten the snitch first anyway. Such a shame that blundering oaf Hagrid let the snitchers out. He just took away Slytherin's finest victory with his stupidity." 

Hermione glowered at him. "You take that back! It wasn't Hagrid's fault! And he didn't _let_ them out. The locks were probably unlatched or something. I personally don't understand how those snitchers got out! I even helped Hagrid secure them into place." 

Draco laughed. "All right, I take that back. It's your fault, then." 

"No!" said Hermione, outraged. 

"Calm down, Granger. Take a joke." Draco picked up some more trash. He looked up at the dark, night. How pretty was that? It was full of glittering stars. 

Hermione and Draco worked in silence. The night air was a bit chilly but not so cold that it caused discomfort. This was the perfect autumn night. Draco thought that he could even hear the faint twinkling of the stars then. 

"I wish I had my broom right now," Draco suddenly said. 

"Oh?" asked Hermione, curious. "Why is that? To sweep this mess up?" 

"Of course not," said Draco. "So I could ride it and go away from here for a bit. It's a nice night." 

Hermione laughed softly. "Take me with you, then." 

Draco looked at Hermione, wondering why she of all people would want to leave Hogwarts. This ruddy castle was her haven, no doubt. Draco wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn't need to know such things, and she wasn't worth his curiosity, was she? Despite his misgivings, however, Draco managed a small smirk and muttered inaudibly, "I'll take you." 

They picked up the candy wrappers, trying not to glance at the outside ruins of what used to be the Gryffindor quidditch stands. The headmaster seemed to have gotten the foundation and most of the outside construction patched up, but chips of broken marble and stone were still scattered about the edges of the stands. Draco and Hermione worked silently, though Draco itched to start up some sort of a conversation. It wasn't as if he was that talkative, but for some reason, being alone with her under the stars like this made him feel almost whimsical. Draco stole a glance at Hermione once more. Her eyes were big and bright and he never noticed what such a deep color they were. 

"How did you receive your name?" Draco asked suddenly. 

Hermione looked up. Her brows were furrowed. "What?" she asked. 

"I said: how did you get your name? You know. Her-Hermione?" Draco said. 

Hermione looked at Draco strangely for a fleeting second before she answered cautiously. "Well, there was this woman in the Greek myths. She was the daughter of Helen of Troy and King Menalaus . . . do you know the story?" 

Draco nodded. "Yes." 

Hermione shrugged. "My mother studied Greek mythology -- she loves the stories." 

Draco didn't answer. He just looked at Hermione. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. 

"Malfoy," she whispered. 

Draco opened his mouth to say something. But he couldn't get a word out as a piercing yell erupted the silence. It was Professor McGonagall. 

"Miss Granger!" she shouted from the Ravenclaw stands. "Mr. Malfoy! Please come here this _instant_!" 

Hermione looked at Draco before sprinting over to her professor. "Yes professor?" Hermione asked between gasps as soon as she was within ear-shot of the professor. Hermione's breath caught in her throat as she stared at Professor McGonagall's face. She seemed on the verge of tears . . . and this professor never _ever_ cried. 

"I need to speak to you, Miss Granger. Both of you please both come up this instant. Mr. Malfoy, you are excused from this detention tonight. I wish to speak with Miss Granger in private. Please head over to the Slytherin commons. I expect that you have much schoolwork to catch up on." 

"Er, all right professor. Thank you." He turned away and walked away, throwing Hermione one last confused glance. 

"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall, "I'm terribly sorry to surprise you. But you have to have knowledge . . . " Professor McGonagall's glittered. "I wish I didn't have to be the bearer of bad news but --" Professor McGonagall choked back a slight moan. 

"Professor." Hermione said slowly. "Please tell me what is wrong? Is anyone hurt? It isn't Ron, is it? Harry?" 

A stray tear escaped. The professor's voice was weak. "Harry Potter . . ." 

Hermione's eyes widened. "Harry? What happened to him? Is he all right? Is he hurt? He isn't dead . . . is he? Is he!" 

The professor fervently shook her head. "No. He's not dead, Miss Granger." 

Hermione's breathing became ragged. "Please tell me professor. What's wrong with him?" 

The professor opened her mouth but no words came out. She tried to regain her composure but it faltered once more. "Harry, Harry Potter. He's in the hospital wing right now." She licked her lips as if the words wouldn't come out. 

"Tell me, please, professor what hap --" 

"Harry Potter has been poisoned. The poison is running through his system quickly, and it has just reached his heart. He is dying, Miss Granger. He's _dying_!" Professor McGonagall cried. 

Hermione just stood there numbly for a moment, facing her professor. She didn't believe what she said. She couldn't. Harry. Dying. It couldn't be true. But the look on the professor's face assured her that this was fact. Hermione's knees gave out and she fell to the floor. Her arms were limp and her tears fell freely from her face. It couldn't be true . . . and yet, she knew it must be. 


	9. A Quiet Detention in the Hut, Not!

**Author's Note**: People have been asking me about the characterization of the Red Widow. Be assured that she will make a tremendous appearance in the future chapters. She's a very significant character! 

* * *

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The Passion of Hate and Love   
Chapter 9: A Quiet Detention in the Hut, Not!   
By Callisto Callispi

Hermione grasped Harry's cold hands tightly. Tears stained her flushed face. He was on the brink of death and a strong potion just barely kept him alive. The poison, which was unidentified as of yet, had not reached his heart but was damn close. Too close. 

Harry looked like a fright. His face was white and cold to the touch. His lips were blue, his skin soaked in cold sweats. Every breath he took was a great struggle, as if he were _forcing_ oxygen into his lungs, _forcing_ himself to stay alive. Bless his will. Hermione bit her lip. 

She didn't want to be here. She didn't want Harry to die. Merlin, what she would give to see Harry's brilliant green eyes open and his mouth smiling! 

_"He was found and brought in by Neville,"_ Professor McGonagall had said, covering mouth with her hand as if she were nauseous. _"Neville told us that Harry was prone on the ground. He had collapsed!"_

Poison. A poison that even Professor Snape couldn't identify was running through Harry's veins. 

The forlorn look in the professor's eyes was something that Hermione had never seen before. _"Please, stay in here as long as you want. Seeing how you and Ronald Weasley are so close to him…Blaise Zabini is in a similar predicament. He was brought in later than Potter was. Luckily for him, he's only been exposed to a little of the poison so it's easier to eradicate from his system. Yes, he was also poisoned."_

No matter how many times she wiped her face, tears still soaked her cheeks. Hermione breathed in raggedly, keeping her eyes on Harry as Ron's hand gripped her shoulder. 

"Hermione," he said softly. "We're probably going to spend the whole night here. I'll get us something to eat." 

Hermione nodded silently. She had no appetite. She didn't want to eat. All she wanted to do was help Harry get better. 

"All right then. I'll be right back," said Ron in a strained voice as he closed the door. The shuffle of footsteps faded as Ron headed down to the Great Hall. 

Alone. She was alone, clenching Harry's hand furiously in her own. 

Soft, barely audible breathing reached her ears. Blaise Zabini. Hermione looked over her shoulder at Blaise, finding him lying on a bed. He was pale but his lips were still rosy, very much unlike Harry. 

Hermione wanted to throttle Blaise. He shouldn't be doing so well. Why was it that Harry got a full dose of the poison and he only got a fraction! It simply wasn't fair! Harry who suffered so much throughout his life! And now he was about to die because some maniac poisoned him! 

Hermione clenched her teeth and inwardly swore to find the vile bastard that poisoned Harry. If Harry died, she would wring that person's neck -- she would make sure that the bastard would die painfully and slowly. And she would relish in his strangled coughs and pleading. Revenge was sweet. And a duty. 

She gasped, covering her mouth with her hands. _No! Don't think like that! Don't be like that! I am no death eater. I am no murderer!_

But the part that scared Hermione more than anything was that she meant every word that she had thought. 

Tears flooded her eyes. Too many things piled on her at once. First Draco Malfoy. Then detention. Now Harry. It was too much! Too much in a short time! Hermione wasn't crying just for Harry, she was crying for herself. 

Hermione must have cried herself to sleep. She lay next to Harry and clasped his hand tightly as if it were her own life. 

**X**

Ron quietly entered the room and smiled a bit wistfully as he quietly walked over to Hermione, a box of food in his arms. Setting the box down, Ron gently patted Hermione's hair. It was close to midnight. Maybe even past it, and she deserved some sleep. 

Ron sat across from Hermione, on the other side of Harry. He stared at her slumbering face and he couldn't stop thinking: _Why is she so beautiful?_

Ron blushed. He thanked God that it was night and Hermione was sleeping. It was embarrassing. He loved Hermione for so long, and yet, he had never been able to tell her. For so long. His heart hurt. He wanted so badly to hold her and talk to her, but she was too overwhelmed with grief right now to take this all into her head. 

Ron glanced at Harry. "Merlin, Harry, don't die," he whispered. "For all of our sakes." 

Glancing one more time at Hermione, Ron settled himself comfortably in his seat and he too, fell asleep. 

**-x-x-**

Rumors thundered from the mouths of Hogwarts students the next day, striking anyone who heard it. Claims of death finding Harry were frequently spoken, but only the Slytherins grinned. 

To their delight, though, Hermione and Ron were woken up by Harry. He moaned and cried out, probably because of a dream. He slowly opened his eyes, revealing glazed pupils, and then fell back into unconsciousness. 

Ron called Madame Pomfrey, and she remarked happily that it was a miracle. She said that Harry had a definite chance to live, and Hermione collapsed next to Harry, smiling and kissing his hand. 

"You will be granted permission to miss classes today. You may stay here for the day, but you will have to make up your work," Professor McGonagall remarked after she inspected Harry. She smiled, even if it was a bit thin, cordially toward Hermione and Ron then exited. 

"Don't be foolish, Ron. Harry is going to live!" Hermione chided as soon as Ron said that he would stay. "And what would he say if you were behind your work on account of him?" 

"Well, what about you?" he demanded. "You are going to have some work to turn in too." 

Hermione smiled patiently. "If you haven't forgotten, Ron, I finished all my work. I did it just this morning." 

Ron gawked. "How?" 

Hermione produced a few pieces of papers and waved them around with a small smile. "The joys of a syllabus." 

After a few more minutes of retaliation, Ron sighed and admitted defeat. "All right, Head Girl, I'll go." He turned to leave while combing his messy hair with his fingers. He looked back just one last time. "You will tell me if his condition changes, right? Please do. I need to know if he gets better or…worse." 

Hermione's eyes darkened at the thought. "I promise, Ron." 

Ron nodded solemnly and turned away. He exited with a quick glance back. As soon as he was out of the room, Hermione sighed and stared at Harry's pale face. It was still a bit blood-drained but nowhere as near white it had been last night. 

Last night! She still had detention to attend, and the quidditch field was far from clean. Draco Malfoy. How was he doing? He seemed so humane to her last night, prodding her with polite questions instead of his usual callous remarks. She felt so…warm in her chest when she thought about him now. 

Draco Malfoy. 

Liking Draco Malfoy's company? Oh Merlin, she needed something to drink. 

She stood up and glanced hesitantly at Harry. She walked towards the table where Ron set the paper bag of food down. The smell haunted her and she hadn't eaten since yesterday at the dinner. 

_Good old Ron,_ she thought fondly, taking out a plate of cold turkey and water. She sliced the turkey with her fork as she walked back to her seat next to Harry. Sitting there, quietly munching on the meat, she wished that she could share the food with her friend. 

**-x-x-**

Draco hurried to his first class. Transfiguration. He didn't want to be tardy considering McGonagall's foul mood with Potter being in his condition. Draco didn't get much sleep the previous night, resulting in his current tardiness. 

He had to admit that he _did_ feel a bit uneasy when he glanced at McGonagall's puffy, teary face. That was the first time he ever saw that stoic woman shed tears. It was in good reason, he supposed, considering that Potter was Gryffindor's pet puppy -- someone to be pampered and loved. 

Draco ran into the classroom, weak with relief that McGonagall wasn't there yet. He rushed to his desk and set his books and quill down, leaning back into his chair. He looked to the left to find Potter's place empty. 

"He's not there, Malfoy," said a cold voice from behind Draco. 

Draco spun around in his chair and saw Ronald Weasley coldly glaring at him as he found his seat in the classroom. 

"I'm surprised that you aren't up in the hospital wing with Potter and Herm…Granger." Draco bit his tongue. Her name almost slipped out of his mouth. 

Luckily for Draco, Ron didn't catch the mishap. Instead, he just ignored Draco and rubbed his eyes. 

"I apologize for my tardiness," said Professor McGonagall briskly as she hurried into the room. "Take out your text books and kindly turn to the beginning of chapter ten." 

Draco tried, really, not to doze off. However, the room was so warm and the day was so gray… 

_SNAP!_

Draco jerked up to find Professor McGonagall hovering over him like a harpy, brandishing the meter stick like a sword. 

"Mister Malfoy, I will not have you day dreaming in this class room. Is that clear?" she asked sharply as she approached him. 

"Yes, professor," he replied wearily. 

**-x-x-**

The hours passed slowly for Hermione. She sat down in a chair next to Harry, reading a book, which Ron had so kindly given to her during his free time. Unfortunately, it was titled _Best Quidditch Tactics_. Her eyes were going to pop out of their sockets if she saw the word 'quidditch' again in print. 

She glanced at Harry once more. Breathing seemed to be easier for him and his faced colored nicely too. Madame Pomfrey had checked on Harry's condition minutes earlier and declared that he would recover, even if it may take much time. Then the nurse left for lunch. 

Hermione sat comfortably in her chair, thoughtfully quiet. She hoped that Harry would get well soon. She couldn't stand this silence, and ashamed as she was to admit it, she hoped to get out of the hospital wing. She was mightily bored just sitting there, reading dull books. 

"Uhnn…" 

Hermione's heart leapt. Harry? Was that Harry? She spun and looked down at Harry but his eyes were still closed. 

Who was it? 

"Hermione?" 

She turned to find a mop of dark hair. It was Blaise Zabini. "Hermione? What are you doing here? Where am…how was I…why am I here?" 

Hermione sat as still as a statue. "You're conscious," she stated. 

"Yes, I noticed, thank you. Why am I here?" he said sharply. His eyes fell on the bed next to her. "And why is Potter here?" His attempt to sit up failed. 

Hermione slowly walked over to where Blaise was lying down. "Don't make such sudden movements. You aren't strong enough yet." 

Blaise nodded. "Now, why am I here?" 

"You mean you don't remember?" she asked, mildly astonished. 

"I wouldn't be asking you if I had recalled anything," he snarled. 

Taken aback by his tone, she sputtered, "Well, you got poisoned." 

Blaise looked at Hermione as if she were mad. "What? How? I'm not to get poisoned." 

"Well, no one intends to die by poisoning," Hermione noted dryly. 

Blaise looked at Hermione desperately. "Are you sure? How do you know for certain that I got poisoned?" 

Hermione shrugged. "Madame Pomfrey told me. Why are you so paranoid? You are alive aren't you?" 

Blaise's eyes darkened. He seemed almost hurt. "Well, I apologize if I lack the decency to die. Maybe the next time I am poisoned, I might. Would that satisfy you?" 

Hermione sighed and rubbed her face. "Blaise, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so uncivil. It's been a long night." 

Blaise thought about this. He nodded towards Harry. "Potter got poisoned also, I bet? Do you know what the poison was? I'd very much like to avoid it in the future." 

Hermione gave a helpless shrug. "I haven't the faintest idea what it was. Perhaps you could ask Madame Pomfrey when she comes back. I'm a bit curious myself." 

Blaise nodded. His eyelids drooped. "Pardon me," he mumbled. "I feel a bit sleepy. Perhaps we may finish this conversation later…" And then he fell asleep. 

Hermione silently gazed at Blaise. He was almost charming. His smooth features were softened in his sleep. Hermione smiled slightly as she sat back down next to Harry. Were she and Blaise ever rivals? Blaise had never been rude to her like any of the other Slytherins over the years. Actually, Blaise seemed like a quiet person. Hermione never noticed him and she wondered why. 

But then, a sudden thought struck Hermione. _Blaise was now just alive and talking._ She looked at Harry and yelped in delight. That meant Harry… 

Hermione hurried out of the hospital wing and down to the Great Hall to alert Madame Pomfrey of Blaise's sudden recovery. Huffing and puffing, Hermione reached the doors of the Great Hall and went in. Sitting at the Hufflepuff table were the Professors Sprout and McGonagall, the headmaster, and Madame Pomfrey. 

"Miss Granger," said the headmaster kindly, ushering her over. The others looked up from their lunch. 

Hermione smiled. "Hello, headmaster. Madame Pomfrey, Blaise Zabini has regained consciousness and he talked to me!" 

The nurse's response couldn't have been more distant from the reaction Hermione had expected. Instead of rushing up to the infirmary to check on Blaise, she quietly turned back to her baked potatoes. 

"Is that all? Why, child, you didn't have to rush all the way down here to tell me that. I had previously suspected that Mister Zabini would wake up this hour." 

"Then will Harry be all right also?" Hermione demanded quickly. 

Swallowing the potatoes, Madame Pomfrey answered, annoyed, "I thought I told you this morning that Mister Potter would survive." 

Hermione sighed in relief. So. She was sure. Harry would survive. How she would rest easily tonight. She turned to leave. "Thank you. Madame Pomfrey; sorry to interrupt your lunch." 

"Miss Granger." 

Hermione whipped around to find Dumbledore standing. "Yes, headmaster?" 

"Why don't you return to your classes now?" he suggested. "I know that you are still concerned about Harry's well-being, as we all are, but he shall recover after all." His blue eyes twinkled. "Besides, as your headmaster, it is my duty to make sure our Head Girl keeps up with her schoolwork." 

Hermione kept silent. How could she possibly say no? Glancing in Professor McGonagall's direction and getting no response, Hermione reluctantly faced Dumbledore. "All right, headmaster," she said a bit sullenly. "I'll go up there once more to get my school work and books." 

"Wonderful. I advise you to collect the assignments you have missed today. I dare say Professor Snape was quite upset that you didn't attend his class today," said Dumbledore kindly. 

Defeated, she nodded and stepped out of the Great Hall. She supposed it was a relief that she would be out of the hospital wing. But still, she wanted to be with Harry when he woke up. 

X 

In the Great Hall, Headmaster Dumbledore seated himself once more, the benevolent smile disappearing from his face. 

"Albus," said Professor McGonagall slowly, "do you think it wise to leave Potter alone up there with only Blaise Zabini?" 

The headmaster sighed. "Even with her up there, what could she do to stop the dark magic against her, Harry, and Blaise Zabini?" 

Sprout was visibly shaken. "Poor, poor Potter. To be a target once more by the --" 

"Poppy, have you learned of the poison?" asked the headmaster. 

Madame Pomfrey shook her head sadly. "I haven't. But whatever it was, it must been intricately brewed. I couldn't trace it for the longest time, and even Severus has a hard time identifying it." She sighed. "It's lucky that Severus was brewing that beozar potion late last night or Potter would have been a goner." 

"Do you suppose," said McGonagall, biting her lip, "that a dark wizard somehow entered the school premises without use knowing?" 

The four kept silent. 

"You don't suppose that it's You-Know-Who's plans, is it?" asked Professor Sprout fearfully. 

"Of course this is one of Voldemort's plans. Who else would want to kill Potter? God knows that man is rising and gaining powers once more," Professor McGonagall spat. "He could have been stopped if Fudge acted upon the warnings three years ago. But that imbecile insists on hushing things about Voldemort. All for the sake of his stupid position as Minister of Magic." 

"Minerva," said Dumbledore quietly, "it is not wise to speak badly of the very man who keeps this school open." His voice was neutral, though he should have been the one angriest regarding the predicament. 

"Albus, 'the man that is keeping the school open?' That's you. Not Cornelius Fudge," said Professor McGonagall firmly. 

**-x-x-**

Hermione reached the Hospital Wing to find Blaise Zabini sitting up and staring out the window his bed was facing. He looked thoughtful. 

"Blaise?" 

Her voice seemed to startle him. He quickly turned around on his bed and narrowed his eyes. "Hermione? I -- I thought you weren't supposed to be in here." 

She walked towards Harry's bedside to collect her book bags. "You're right. The headmaster kicked me out." She smiled a bit at Blaise. "Look, I apologize for being so rude -- it was totally uncalled for." Then she grabbed her bag and exited, leaving a stunned Blaise. 

"Thanks," came the muffled answer. 

Giving the infirmary one last look, she made her way down the spiraling staircase, heading for Hagrid's hut outside. Care for Magical Creatures, advanced. 

**X**

Class was especially boring. And hazy. Even as she handled some newt-like looking creature, her eyes would stray up to the infirmary window. She narrowed her eyes for a second, thinking that she spotted something black brush against the window. She blinked. There was nothing there. Nothing. Could she have been seeing things? She must have been. 

As soon as class was over, Hagrid called Hermione over to him. 

"What's wrong?" she asked as she walked up to him. 

Hagrid turned a bit red and cleared his throat. "Could yeh an' Malfoy do me a favor? I know this is quick notice, but could yeh two watch those snitchers for me until midnight? Or when yeh get off -- whichever is earlier." 

Hermione shrugged. "Sure. Are you going somewhere?" 

Hagrid cleared his throat again, looking slightly abashed. "Yea', to Diagon Alley this evening. Got ter find a magic-and-knife repellent net. Can't take any risks after today's quidditch match." 

Hermione nodded and smiled. "All right. I mean, I have no problem with it or anything. But what about Filch?" 

Hagrid's face darkened. "That ol' git. Not ter worry; I'll set the clod straight." Hagrid glanced at the sky, his eyes noting the descent of the sun. "If I'm right, which I probably am, yeh still have an hour before detention. Relax a bit; looks like yeh need it," he advised, shaking his head at the bags under Hermione's eyes. 

**-x-x-**

McGonagall gave her the news as soon as classes ended. 

"You are to report to the hospital wing," she said. "Mister Potter is conscious and requests the audiences of you and Mister Weasley." A shadow of a smile graced her stern face as she saw Hermione's expression slowly change from bafflement to joy. Jaw dropping and smiling all the while, Hermione stuttered, "Th-thanks professor. I --" 

"Run up there. I dare say that you wouldn't want to waste any time talking with me since you have detention soon." 

She grinned brightly and took off, shouting, "Thank you!" She bolted up the stairs with the energy of a stag and soon enough, reached the infirmary and slammed the hospital door open. Hermione was at once scolded by Madame Pomfrey. "Gently, Miss Granger, gently." 

"Sorry," apologized Hermione quickly as she ran to the room where Harry was. She grinned brightly and waved as she saw Harry nodding and chatting with Ron. He was sitting up in the hospital bed with a white blanket over him. She was too happy to notice that a slight grimace that marred Ron's face. 

"Now make sure you don't get too overexcited," warned the nurse as Hermione rushed over to join the two boys. Madame Pomfrey then exited, closing the door behind her. 

Hermione put her palm on Harry's forehead. He laughed and benevolently removed it. "Oh please, Hermione, don't tell me that you're turning into the _next_ Madame Pomfrey." His voice was hoarse but strong. 

Smiling, Hermione impulsively bent over and hugged Harry tightly. "I do hope you get better soon. Can you walk? Can you eat solid foods? Oh I wish I had known if you could consume anything, I could have snuck up some food from the kitchens --" she rambled on until Harry interrupted her. 

"It's all right, Hermione," laughed Harry raggedly. "According to Madame Pomfrey, I'm not well enough to talk with you two. I had to _beg_ her to let me have some visitors. No solid foods either. The poison must have damaged my throat or something. I can only consume foods in liquid forms or…mush." 

Hermione stared down with a serious expression on her face. Harry grinned cheekily. 

"At least I can walk. I'm only in this bed for Madame Pomfrey's sake. 'Just as a precaution,' she told me. You know how uneasy she gets." 

Hermione dragged a chair next to Blaise's bed to where Harry was. She noticed the covers were made and the bed was vacant. "That's a relief. What happened to Blaise Zabini?" 

"He checked out," answered Harry. 

"That's strange," Hermione said. "I didn't see him at the Slytherin tables in the Great Hall." 

Harry shrugged. "Probably recuperating. I heard Madame Pomfrey give him direct orders to stay in bed. Surprised that he actually listened to her advice." 

Ron sighed and spoke for the first time. "Poor bloke. Needs to stay in bed for twenty-four hours. I feel bad for him actually -- to get poisoned along with Harry." 

Hermione nodded. "Say, Ron, why were you being so quiet? Shouldn't you and Harry be talking about quidditch right about now?" 

Ron stared fixedly at Hermione before replying. "Hermione, Harry actually has something to tell you. He already told me, you know, because I came up a bit earlier than you did, but I don't mind listening again anyway. I don't quite understand it myself." 

Hermione turned to Harry. "I thought you were in perfect health. Don't tell me you're ill again." 

Harry laughed hollowly, as if it were forced, and the fact that his throat was not completely healed made his laughter sound animal-like. Very much unlike Harry. "It's not about my health. Well, actually, part of it is. I mean, I wouldn't really be in good condition if I were dead, would I?" 

Hermione felt her chest tighten. "What are you talking about Harry? And are you sure of whatever you are thinking of?" 

Shrugging, he answered sardonically, "Concerning my past, yes, I'm pretty sure." 

Before Harry could continue, Madame Pomfrey knocked on the door and entered. 

"Excuse me but Hagrid wanted me to remind you, Miss Granger, that detention is in half and hour." She glanced at Harry, probably to make sure that he wasn't collapsing again, and closed the door quietly. 

"That woman," said Harry shaking his head. "You'd think she appointed herself as my guardian angel." 

Ron grinned. "Well considering your hospitalization record --" 

"I know, I know," said Harry. "Don't remind me. She's just too…caring." Harry smiled humorlessly. "I think I'm driving her out of her mind. I mean, before you all came in, she gave me this healing potion, really rotten and sick. Almost made me throw up my lunch. She rushed out and came back in a few minutes later, giving me another cup of healing potion, claiming that that one was the real one. When I told her I already had it, she got all jumpy and embarrassed and explained to me that one was a dud and missed an ingredient." Harry wrinkled his nose. "I believe her. The next one was even nastier. Tasted like old socks." 

"That's it," said Ron. "You've finally managed to drive the woman batty." 

Hermione got impatient. "Sorry to break this to you so roughly, Harry, but have you forgotten what limited time I have? I have to go down to meet Malfoy and Filch in less that thirty minutes. If Madame Pomfrey is the one threatening your life with healing potions then --" 

"Sorry, Hermione," said Harry sheepishly. "I forgot about the whole detention fiasco." 

"Well _stop_ being so apologetic and tell me who wants to kill you so I can at least be prepared to defend you," Hermione snapped restlessly. 

Shrugging helplessly towards Ron, Harry continued. "I suppose I will have to tell you the shortened version. Okay?" 

Hermione nodded. Ron did as well. 

"All right. Most of the time when I was unconscious, it was peaceful. No nightmares. But during the sleep afterwards, I did dream. And it was horribly frightening. I was in a room with a fire lit in the fireplace, and it was cold. Very cold. A huge armchair faced the fireplace and a giant snake slithered along the corners of the room. I also saw Pettigrew. That disgrace of a rodent: weeping and pleading. When is he not? 

"There was a figure in that chair, and it was yelling. It was such a bone-chilling voice. So cold. I hate it. He was saying scornfully, 'There better be an explanation for this Wormtail!' The huge snake wrapped its body around Pettigrew and he cried. And I mean cried, literally. 

"'Potter is still alive!" he shrieked breathlessly as the snake squeezed him tighter and tighter. 

"'Potter is still alive,' continued the figure hatefully. 'And one of our best! Zabini! How can Zabini get --' 

"'But master,' Pettigrew panted, managing to interrupt. The snake squeezed tighter. 'If you will permit me to explain!' 

"It took quite a bit of time for Voldemort to make his mind up. I thought Pettigrew would have popped open. But Voldemort said something in parseltongue like, 'loosen.' 

"'Thank you, my lord!' Pettigrew puffed. 

"'Tell me now, Wormtail. It better be good or you will be food for Nagini,' said the figure, motioning towards the hissing snake. 

"Pettigrew whimpered and said something like: 'Excuse me, lord, but this plan will win over. It has only begun.'" 

Harry paused there, as if to let this all sink in. "That's all," he said finally to a stony-faced Ron and a shocked Hermione. She blinked, her face pale. 

"What do you mean 'that's all'? Surely you heard something else," Hermione insisted. 

Harry shook his head. "I woke up because my scar started to hurt." 

The three fell silent until Harry spoke again, this time more slowly and thoughtfully. "He's after me again… He's bloody persistent, Voldemort. But what would he gain killing me? I don't understand that part. And Zabini, what part does he play in this all?" 

Hermione sighed. "Blaise -- a casualty of all of this madness." She paused, re-arranging everything she heard. "But you are right, Harry. What does Voldemort have to gain in killing you?" 

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not much of a threat to him -- more of an embarrassment. But I sorted through all the possibilities of this… Like maybe Blaise poisoned me out of spite. Perhaps he took some poison as well to get Dumbledore off his back. He was, after all, getting pretty close to you Hermione --" 

"He was not! We just talked a bit!" screeched Hermione. 

"-- and he has the best chances to do it since he's my partner in potions. But I talked to Madame Pomfrey about the poison and she said even the smallest drop could kill a person if not properly treated, so Blaise wouldn't risk his own life unless he really hated me. But I don't think he does -- he's relatively civil and apathetic. For a Slytherin." 

"And I thought that it was Snape," piped in Ron. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Really, Ron! Snape?" 

"It's possible," Ron said grudgingly. 

"I wonder," Hermione mumbled, tapping the metal railing with her fingertips, "if it _was_ an outsider that poisoned you, say Wormtail, how did he get into the castle?" 

Harry sighed and rubbed his eyes. 

Hermione bit her lip. "We've managed to fit a few pieces of the puzzle together. Not enough to see the whole picture but a small part of it. I suspect that this poison riffraff was a minor thing, a small step in a grand staircase that would lead to Voldemort's ultimate goal -- whatever that is." 

"Small step?" croaked Harry. "Me getting killed is only a 'small step?'" He sounded a bit hurt. 

"You know that I don't want you killed. But you have to wonder: why would Voldemort take such drastic measures, and under the watchful eye of Dumbledore, to get to you Harry?" Hermione glanced around room for a few seconds. Then she leaned in and lowered her voice. "He would take his time. I know he would; that's his style. He would wait until you were out of school to strike at you. But why take such risks to attack you now?" 

Ron narrowed his eyes. 

"He's planning something, and he's taking all the prerequisite steps to ensure success; he wants all necessary threats out of the way. That means you, Harry. Voldemort may be a danger to you, much bigger I admit, but so are you. Your existence is a hazard to Voldemort, for some reason." 

"That's impossible," Harry sputtered. "How can I be a danger?" 

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. But you will have to watch you back more carefully now. Your life is in even more jeopardy now than ever." Hermione sat back in her chair. An eerie silence clouded the room. Harry's looked nauseous. 

"Harry, we can't take things for granted anymore. This time, let's make sure we fit those puzzle pieces correctly. Remember our first year with the Philosopher's Stone? We thought Snape was working for Voldemort but it turned out to be Quirrell. We might be seeing the right part of the picture but then again, we may not," Hermione spoke, low in voice. 

Harry nodded. Ron groaned and muttered something about stress and psychopathic dark wizards. 

The door suddenly opened, and the three jumped instantaneously. Madame Pomfrey. "Visiting times have past ten minutes ago. Miss Granger," she said in an irritable voice. "You will be late for your detention. Five minutes to spare; I thought you'd might like to know." The door closed and Hermione gathered her book bag. 

"She's right," Hermione said. Turning to Ron, she said, "If you are going to the dormitories, Ron, could you take my book bag and leave it in the commons? I will take it on my way back in." Hermione paused in the doorway then faced the Harry and Ron again. "And no, you will not find any assignments in there so don't bother." 

She heard both Ron and Harry sigh. 

**X**

"I can't believe we have to go out there! Why did you say yes, Granger?" demanded Draco. 

Hermione stared at him pointedly. "You complain too much. You sound just like a child." 

Draco cursed under his breath. "If it was only you, fine. But _why_ did you have to volunteer me? I don't want to stay out all night guarding those…snitchers. It's cold." 

"Stop whining. It's not cold out here. Besides," Hermione continued, licking her lips, "would you rather scrub the dungeon floors?" 

Draco shrugged, crunching dead leaves under his feet. "I like the night, Granger. Good thing it's not raining. But doing a favor for that oaf --" 

Hermione eyed Draco angrily. "For you information, Hagrid is _not_ and oaf! Sure he is a bit…listless at times, but he is not the oaf that you claim him to be." 

"Of course not. He's the other oaf that I -- all right, all right," said Draco with his hands held up. 

They reached the hut, and Hermione spotted six large cages full of tiny snitchers. 

Draco crinkled his nose. "I never really liked these things. Sharp teeth." 

"We should take these snitchers in so they won't get cold," Hermione remarked. 

Draco grabbed her arm. "Excuse me? In? In where?" 

Hermione stared at Draco, annoyed. "Don't be dull. Inside the hut of course," she said, pointing at the hut. She pulled out the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. 

"Well, well," said Draco, satisfied. "This detention just became bearable. If I had known we would be inside, I wouldn't have complained so much." 

Hermione and Draco both grabbed a cage and dragged it into the hut. "Sometimes I marvel at your ignorance. Didn't you hear Filch telling us we would be inside the hut? I highly doubt that Hagrid would make me stand out here. You, yes. Me? Never." 

Draco shrugged, reaching for another cage. "It's true I didn't listen. I just figured that you, being you, would do the listening for us." He winked slyly at her. 

When the snitchers were all hauled in, Hermione and Draco both entered the hut. It was strangely silent in the house as usually Hagrid had Fang in there. It was warm, though, and a great fire crackled in the fireplace. On the table was a hot kettle full of steaming water and two teacups with bags of tea in them. 

"How lovely! Hagrid prepared tea for us," Hermione said happily. 

Thunder boomed. Lightning streaked across the sky. Rain began to pour down in torrents. 

Hermione poured the water into both cups and a sweet aroma immediately pervaded the room. "Tea?" she asked Draco. When he nodded, she handed the hot teacup over to him. 

"This is quite the detention," said Draco with a small smirk. 

Hermione walked over to Hagrid's favorite armchair and sat down on the floor by the fireplace. "Have you seen Blaise?" she asked. 

Draco jerked in surprise and stared at Hermione. 

Hermione stared back. "Have you?" 

"Blaise? Zabini? Blaise Zabini?" 

"Yes," said Hermione annoyed. "Is there any other Blaise in this whole school?" 

Draco furrowed his brows. "Well, I suppose there isn't. Why are you asking about him?" 

Hermione drew her knees close to her and stared into the fire. "I'm just worried about him a bit." 

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "You? Worried about a Slytherin? That's a first. Why should you concern yourself with him?" Draco stared at his teacup. "He's not the type of person that Gryffindors such as yourself want to be acquainted with." 

Hermione flinched. He meant Gryffindor muggle-borns. "Well you're not one of the best person that people like me should get acquainted with, either," she shot back. 

Draco felt a prick of heat. Shame? He restrained looking at Hermione. 

"It's just that I'm a bit worried is all," he heard her say softly. "I don't really think that Blaise Zabini the target of that poison… " 

Draco paused before saying anything. He was confused about this whole matter of the attempt on Potter's life. Neither Voldemort nor his father contacted him about it. He assumed at first that it was the doing of one of those foolish, low-ranking Death Eaters. But now Draco wasn't sure. "Do you know something of this?" 

"No." 

The answer was sure and firm. He knew she was lying. He decided not to pry, though. He would find out soon enough in his own ways and connections. "Well, about Blaise, I didn't see him at all today. He was probably in bed." 

Hermione managed a feeble smile. 

"Besides, Blaise and I aren't really what you would call friends," continued Draco. "Merely acquaintances at best. The only thing we have in common is probably our being in Slytherin." _And our allegiance to Voldemort…_

Hermione sipped her tea then stood up. "I see." She walked over to Draco's couch and sat on the other end. "It was getting to warm by the fire," she explained, smiling slightly. 

Draco, though about a few feet away from Hermione, shifted uncomfortably. 

"Do you have any friends? I mean, true ones," asked Hermione. 

Draco opened his mouth to speak but paused, choosing his words carefully. "I don't know what your definition of 'true friends' is but I do have those that are loyal to me." 

"Not just loyal, Malfoy. I mean who will accept you and help you unconditionally whenever you need it," insisted Hermione. 

Draco sniffed. "Why are you asking me this? If this is an attempt at a conversation, I suggest you change it to another subject." 

Hermione glared at Draco. "Why are you so cold and secretive?" she demanded. 

"Because that's what I am." He said acidly. "Besides, I have my rights to keeps things unknown, don't I?" 

Hermione sighed in defeat. She stood and walked to the sink to wash her empty teacup. "If you're finished with your tea, bring it here. Might as well wash them at the same time." 

Draco handed her the cup grudgingly and sighed slightly. He rubbed his face, thinking, _I pushed her away. Like I always do._

After Hermione finished washing the cups, she sat down on the floor across from Draco and stared into the fire. They sat in silence like that. Draco watched the rain fall. The fire crackled as Hermione poked at it with a poker. It was times like these, being indoors and warm while the wind howled and rained poured wildly outside, that Draco wished for a companion to speak with, to feel at home with. 

Then, a streak of light. 

Draco blinked. Did he see what he thought he saw? "Granger," he said suddenly, standing up. "I saw something outside. It looked like a snitcher." 

Hermione also stood up. "Are you sure?" 

"Yes. It was a golden streak. Like a gold coin but faster." 

She stared outside the window also. "Maybe you saw the lightning." 

Draco looked at her as if she had grown another nose. "Really, Granger. Lightning? Indeed." 

"Well what are you going to do? Go out in this hurricane and get it?" Hermione demanded. 

Draco shrugged. "Yes. I personally don't want to be responsible for the loss of a snitcher." However, he walked over and sat back down comfortably on the couch. "But if you want another day added to our detention --" 

Hermione walked over and grabbed Draco's arm. "Come on, let's go. It's probably stuck in a tree somewhere, anyway." She went to the door and opened it. Hermione didn't step out, though, and instead crinkled her nose. 

Draco came up behind her. "Well? Aren't you going to go out?" 

"It's still raining!" she protested. 

Draco rolled is eyes. "Of course it's still raining. It's only water. It doesn't matter, though. Perform that spell from Charms the other day -- the one that's supposed to keep you dry. You did a good job of performing it then. Show-off." 

Hermione smirked. "It's not that simple. It's hard enough to cast it around just me but you too? Besides, I can out-perform you in any spell in the wizarding world." 

"Nonsense," muttered Draco. His mind flipped through the pages of his memories and re-played each of the lessons he had learnt since he was a child. Torture curses, false memories, murderous illusions -- he knew how to cast them all, and back then he enjoyed casting them and prided himself with the smile that graced his father's face. He was still a child then, seeking the approval of Lucius, wishing nothing more than to please him. Not anymore. And Draco was tired of those spells. Sometimes he had nightmares, and he hated the fact that he had no one to turn to -- not even his own mother. But being with Hermione blacked those memories out for a bit, and though he did not understand why, he was thankful. It was amazing that he could perform the most intricate dark spells but not a simple charm. "Just hurry up and cast the spell." 

Fortune was on Draco's side. Hermione did manage to cast the invisible shield around him also. They both went out of the hut and searched for the snitcher. 

"It probably went into the Forbidden Forest," declared Draco after awhile. 

"I'm not going in there, Malfoy," Hermione said resolutely. 

But soon her arguments proved to be futile (damn that serpent tongue of his) as the two huddled together, trying to keep the almost elastic shield from tearing, and headed into the forest. They trekked over tree roots, fallen branches, and what strangely looked like dead snakes. Minutes passed and Hermione was starting to get ill-tempered. 

"We looked _everywhere_ and no snitcher! Are you sure you saw a snitcher?" 

"Positive," Draco said. "I have a seeker's eye, you know that." 

It was muddy and cold outside. Draco felt Hermione shivering next to him and unconsciously drew her closer into his chest. She stiffened, sneezed, then moaned miserably. They weren't wet, thank Merlin, but the ice-cold wind was like needles against their skin. 

"Malfoy, I don't like it here," she whispered against his chest as soon as a wolf (or werewolf) howled. "You must have seen something else. Let's go back." 

Surprisingly, Draco didn't tease her or make a snide remark. Instead, he just looked up at the dark sky. 

It was an eerie thing to look around to find nothing but darkness and rain serenaded by thunder and lightning. But adding vampires and werewolves and imagination to the mix made it a step higher than merely 'eerie'. 

Shivering, Hermione pleaded with Draco once more. "Please let's get out of here. I'm sure the snitcher will come out of the forest soon. Please -- let's go back." 

Draco whipped around to face her. "Did you hear anything?" he demanded in a whisper. 

Hermione thought for a moment. "Other than the thunder, the rain, the wind, the howling, and the tress blowing about, you mean?" she replied acidly. 

Draco ignored Hermione and narrowed his eyes like a cat trying to see in the dark. When he found nothing, he sighed in a defeated way. "All right. Let's go back." 

Hermione gasped happily. 

As the two continued walking, the forest became an even scarier place. The tress, as strange as it seemed, looked as if they were following them around. Draco's jaw tightened. He felt Hermione's heart pound rapidly against his chest. He stifled a gasp of surprise as he felt her tug on his robe sleeve. 

"Those trees," she whispered, "those trees are --" 

A scream pierced the forest. 

Before he knew it, something tore Hermione away from him. He looked up to find a _tree branch_ wrapped around her midriff, dangling her ten feet in the air! 

"Granger!" Draco roared. 

"Help me! Oh God, your wand! The stunning spell with your _mmph_ --" The branch covered her mouth and twined slowly around her throat. 

Draco fumbled for his wand until a pair of branches suddenly shot around his ankles and knocked him off his feet. He landed painfully on his back onto the muddy ground. The wand, which was barely in his hands at that time, shot wildly away about three feet from his head. 

"Shit! Damn it!" Draco screamed as he reached for his wand. He felt water on his face. It was the rain. Paling, Draco realized the spell that Hermione cast around him and her had been removed. She wasn't too far away at the moment, not enough to snap the elastic spell, and the spell only was removed when the caster was unconscious or _dead_ -- 

_Don't think about that now!_ his mind bellowed as he painfully stretched his arm out to reach for his wand. It was only centimeters away! 

Draco's breathing quickened as he felt the branches slowly stroking his neck. The pressure against his chest tightened. He couldn't breathe. Thorns pierced his skin. Draco cried out in pain. Blood spurted everywhere. A branch pierced his very shoulder! The same shoulder that he stretched out to reach for his wand! But he did not withdraw that arm. There was so much blood. 

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed. A shrill and inhuman laughter pierced the night. 

With one last rush of strength and adrenaline, Draco reached out his blood-soaked arm. The branches were starting to squeeze his neck. Breathing was painful. Draco felt the long and smooth wood of his wand against his fingers and grabbed it. Moving the wand as fluidly as he could despite the throbbing blood wound, Draco performed the first spell that came into his mind with a final and desperate gasp of breath. 

"_Toquereus de Pyretionis_!" 

The branches stopped moving immediately and fell limp. Draco hurried and backed away. He was quite surprised that he had performed that but nonetheless, he knew the results of that spell. 

In a few seconds time, the set of branches that grabbed him shivered and burst into red and purple flames, thrashing wildly in obvious pain. There was no warmth to the fire. It was a stabbing, painful fire -- one designed for the worst of torture, a debatable second to that of the Crutatius Curse according to some scholars. 

More shrieking. Goosebumps tingled down Draco's arms. That scream was not human and yet…so sentient. The advancing branches backed away. Draco grabbed his shoulder in pain, trying to fight back the numbness seeped through his arm. He stood slowly upon shaky legs to confront anything else that might attack him. 

And then…silence. The thundering storm hushed. He strained to hear something, anything in this deafening silence. No more pitter-patters of rain, no more booms of thunder. No nothing. 

Wait. 

No…not nothing. It was a like a chant -- a song even, but Draco couldn't make out the words. It wasn't a rapid chant. On the contrary, it was soft and gentle. But still, the syllables…were there any syllables? And then…she emerged. 

She seemed to step out of the hazy fog of those chanting voices like a lady disembarking a boat on a misty night by the lake. A woman of unquestionable beauty…a woman with red eyes. Those eyes -- the devil could not have designed them more perfectly. They were almond-shaped, shining, living, moving rubies. Draco gazed at her, marveling at the creature. She wore no clothes but she didn't require them. The creature seemed to be molded out of molten steel, metallically glinting whenever lightning struck. She (he, it?) had a woman's physique: well defined breasts, a small stomach and waist with round hips and buttocks. Her legs and arms were slender and elegant. Her silver locks gleamed like a unicorn's mane. Every long strand of it reached down to her waist in slight curls. And yet…she lacked the vital, private female organs. She smirked at Draco, gazing hungrily at the blood oozing down his arm. 

"Welcome," she said, her voice smooth but cold -- like metal, "to my part of the forest." 

Draco shivered. He didn't know if it was because of the rain or because of uncertainty. 

The creature smiled once more. Her beautiful but strange facial figures gently creased to reveal her full lips, high cheek bones if she had any, and a fine nose. And yet those clear, satanic _eyes_… 

"Who," Draco started shakily, "who are you?" Questions suddenly bombarded his mind. "Did you call off those branches? Where is Gra -- Hermione?" His voice got stronger and more confident with each word. 

She laughed, revealing two sharp fangs in place of her canines. "I should be the one asking you questions, boy. You are the trespasser, you see." She gestured over to the slithering branches. "Feel lucky you are alive; I seldom allow _red-blooded_ creatures like you to live so do not test my temper." 

"How am I greedy, creature?" Draco sneered as nastily as he could, trying not to wince in pain. 

The creature narrowed her eyes. "You followed that golden streak. You saw that gold and chased after it, parsimonious one." 

Draco almost laughed. Parsimonious? Him, one of the wealthiest students in school, parsimonious? _My god. All this fucking trouble for nothing. FUCK! Granger!_

The creature peered at Draco curiously. "Surely you aren't a student at Hogwarts, that madhouse, are you?" 

Draco refused to answer but the creature nodded knowingly. 

"You are a handsome boy and rather powerful," she suddenly remarked with a hint of nostalgia. "Comeliness and…_power_. You can achieve anything with those two as your allies." She sauntered over towards Draco with the grace of a premier ballerina. 

On instinct, Draco grabbed his wand and pointed it at her with his good arm. 

"Put that silly stick down," she ordered impatiently. "If I had wanted to cause you harm, princeling, I would have already done so." She smiled a little when her gaze fell upon his bleeding shoulder. "And it seems I've caused the harm in any case. Your shoulder is getting cold; I suggest you cover it up." 

Draco glared, wishing direly to slap the cockiness out of her. But instead, he slowly lowered his want and covered his shoulder. 

The creature's face softened a bit. "Spare yourself fatigue and pain. Lie down and rest," she said soothingly. 

Draco remained silent and stubbornly kept standing. 

"Pride," she sighed. "I won't hurt you -- only help you. Tell me, dear one, what can I do to ease your troubled mind? Something seems to disturb you." 

Draco couldn't think for a moment. His mind was misty and clouded, almost drugged. But when the cool droplets of rain fell onto his face, his mind seemed to snap back into reality. "The girl," he said hoarsely. "The brown-haired girl. Where is she? Is she dead? Did you kill her?" 

"_Her_?" said the creature with a tone of disgust that made Draco's blood boil. "Why do you want _her?_ I though that you might want to get rid of her. She's muggle-born. I tasted the rustic bearing in her blood." 

Draco's face hardened. "You…drank her blood?" he demanded angrily. "What the hell are you! A vampire! If you killed her, I swear I will --" 

"_What will you do_?" asked the creature nastily. "I am no vampire, fool. You wound me. I did not kill your lover. She is alive." 

"What are you then? What did you do to Hermione?" hissed Draco. "Show her to me! Show me the girl! Bring her to me!" 

The woman stared at Draco, obviously surprised at his boldness and passion for the muggle-born. Her red eyes gleamed. "All right, my brilliant yet impatient boy. You shall have your lady. But tell me this first: how did you perform that spell?" 

Draco grit his teeth. She was wasting time. Hermione could probably be dying somewhere while they chatted! Damn it all. But it was best to play along so he could at least have a chance to save her. "What spell?" Draco muttered. 

"The one with the poisonous fire," she said eagerly. "The one you used on my trees," 

"I swished my wand and said the incantation. Simple enough." 

Her eyes brightened frighteningly quickly. "My boy!" She screamed as another roll of thunder shook the sky. "_Simple enough_! That spell is centuries old! Salazar, my beautiful and brilliant genius, invented that one! It's not easy to cast, you know. Only one with extraordinary powers can control the fires! How old are you? Never mind; you are still a child!" She beamed fondly at Draco. 

He narrowed his eyes in confusion. "Salazar? Your Salazar?" His mind raced with questions. Salazar? Did she mean Salazar of his house? 

"I wished Salazar would get over his ridiculous romantic fancies with that Rowena, but he never did. However he still is my Salazar." Her voice was wistful. 

Draco shook his head. Back to business. "Now, our deal -- where is the girl?" he interrupted. 

Still smiling, the creature snapped her fingers. "You are smitten with this witch, are you not? So young and naïve. You wait, my boy. Your powers are strong and you will be great." 

Draco ignored the creature. Her eyes were on a branch that carried Hermione by the stomach to him. Her figure was hunched and her brown hair was a tangled mess. The shredded uniform barely covered her pale form. Draco's gaze flickered down to the ground, trying to push back the embarrassment of seeing her so indecently exposed. Her cloak was no where to be seen, and the creature witnessed this with open amusement. 

The branch literally threw Hermione at Draco and he fell to the ground with her in his arms. How fatigued, how fragile he felt. Too much blood loss. Too much… 

The branch slowly slithered back into the deep and dark woods. 

Draco linked his arm protectively around Hermione as the creature watched on, now fascinated that he showed so much care to a muggle-born. "I haven't seen a pure-blooded wizard like yourself show such devotion to people like her since Salazar and Rowena." 

Draco glared at the creature. "I am not smitten with this girl. I only show concern over her well-being since her death would cast suspicion onto me." 

"I suppose she is relatively pretty, I grant her that," retorted the creature, ignoring Draco's previous comment. 

"I didn't notice," he lied. 

The woman grinned even more. Draco tried to keep his gaze on Hermione's face and not below her neck. Too much skin, too much…he narrowed his eyes. How pale her face was. How fascinating her long eyelashes were, dusting against the edges of her eyes. Hermione looked like a fragile white doll. Suddenly, Draco noticed something. On the side of her neck were two puncture marks. 

He looked at her face again and realized her skin was almost stark white. She looked dead and Draco would have thought so if not for the very faint pulse he felt in her wrist. 

"My God, you are a vampire! She's almost dead!" Draco cried out. 

The creature tensed. "It is absurd you call me a vampire, boy. I do feed on blood and despise the sunlight but I assure you, I am much stronger, much wiser that the oldest vampire alive. I am the queen, probably, of those creatures you call vampires." She smiled spitefully and bowed. "I was previously called Nícola de Lonclé-Navarra but do refer me by my current title. The Red Widow." 

Draco didn't know what to do or say. He bit back angry words and took off his cloak and wrapped it around the shivering Hermione. "Are you going to let me live?" he asked finally. 

The Red Widow nodded. "It would be a terrible shame to kill the wizard that harbors so much power. But do satisfy my curiosity and tell me: are you with Riddle?" 

"Excuse me?" asked a shocked Draco. 

"Do you hold any relationship with the filth that possesses the name, Tom Marvalo Riddle?" 

What could he say? Draco stayed silent. 

The Red Widow nodded scornfully. "Yes, you know that monster that brings so much shame to Salazar's name." 

Draco's curiosity betrayed him as he stood up and asked, "How do you know so much of Salazar? And if you are not a vampire, though you feed on blood, what are you? How do you take the semi-image of a human and feed on their blood?" 

For awhile, she didn't answer. "I am an accused immortal, damned until I choose to take my own life," she answered coldly. "Let us leave it at that." She didn't say a word about Salazar and instead pointed to the east. "Go now and leave me to my solitude. And yet I have but one warning for you: do not cross paths with Tom Riddle if you can help it anymore. I fear he has already gotten to you; I sense his darkness about you, rotting your soul away." The woman retreated into the shadows. 

Draco noticed it stopped raining. Strangely enough, a slow fog rolled in and he saw nothing but the glimmer of the Red Widow's eyes. 

"One more thing," she said. "Do not be lured into this part of the forest by the glimmer of gold you saw. Mortal men are so driven by greed that it's so easy to get a meal…" 

Draco was about to shout out that he didn't want or need any of her gold but figured it would be stupid to now that the Red Widow was out of sight. Draco closed his eyes, trying to remember all that happened. What a strange night. What a strange life. What whimsical fancy. He then opened his eyes and saw the weak form of Hermione on the ground. 

Her pale face was serene in her state. Draco despairingly wondered how he would get himself and her back to Hogwarts. Draco was sporting the idea that maybe he could carry Hermione on his back but immediately discarded it after the mark started to throb horribly. Draco gripped the left shoulder blade and closed his eyes in pain, collapsing down to his knees. 

When the pain receded a bit, Draco opened his eyes and attempted to shake off the throbbing. He looked at Hermione. In a brief motion he checked her pulse and found it still thumping. He shook her shoulders. The color returned to her face a bit. 

"Granger! Granger! Damn it, wake up! Fuck!" he swore in his rage. "Damn that Red Widow! Damn her!" 

After giving up on trying to rouse her from her unconsciousness, he placed an arm under Hermione's neck and another under her knees and made an effort to pick her up. No more than three steps did he take before he stumbled and fell, landing on top of Hermione with a grunt. 

He groaned in pain. How his bloodied _and_ branded shoulder throbbed. And as he buried his head in the folds of Hermione's barely-there blouse, Draco had a strange urge and rare urge to cry at the whole impossibility of the situation. An angry string of curses tore the silence of the night. He collapsed half on top of her a minute later, completely spent and fatigued. He closed his eyes, drowning in the warmth of Hermione's soft chest and stomach, trying not to doze off. 

"No. No," he mumbled. "No. Don't close your eyes. Don't. Or you two will both die. Get up." 

He moaned and pushed himself up heavily off the warm mattress that was Hermione. He gazed at her face, thinking dizzily that she looked rather pretty all paled up like this. Even when her lashes fluttered, Draco struggled not to fall back down. 

**X**

Her eyelids slowly lifted. Her lips parted slightly in a soft cough. Why was she so uncomfortable? Oh, her vision was so blurry. What was that? Platinum? Black? She blinked rapidly in attempt to clear her sight. 

Hermione gasped as soon as she could see well enough. She stared up, horrified to see Draco on top of her. Her legs were spread like a wanton's with Draco positioned between them. His arms lightly gripped her shoulders, pinning her to the ground. 

_Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod…_

A high-pitched scream shrilled through the forest. 

Hermione pushed Draco off her and crawled on all fours, searching desperately for her wand. Finding it on the ground, she whirled and pointed it at Draco, who was currently wincing and touching his ears gingerly. 

"Malfoy! What were you…of all the _low_ things that… How _dare_ you try to take advantage of me! How --" 

"Shut. Up. Granger," Draco growled. "It's not what it seems." 

Hermione tightened her lips in fury, her wand shaking violently. He moved towards Hermione and she scrambled back into a tree. 

"N-no. Malfoy, please don't, I --" 

Draco reached her and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders. Her wand dropped to the soggy ground and a sob escaped her throat. "Malfoy, let me go. _Please_. I…you…can't --" 

"Granger," he said calmly, "settle down. It's not what it seems. Trust me, I don't intend to rape you in a forest." 

Hermione wasn't convinced. "Y-you're going to…when we get back to the castle…" 

"Hell no!" Draco erupted and calmed down as soon as he heard Hermione draw in a sharp breath. "No. Look, I --" He paused as he saw his cloak slipping from her shoulders. "Oh God. I can't deal with you in this state now." He grabbed his cloak and pulled it onto her shoulders and backed away. "You'd better keep that on." 

Draco checked his pockets to make sure his wand was in there. A shriek erupted from Hermione. 

"Draco Malfoy! My uniform! Wh-what happened to it!" 

He sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'll tell you later. Just follow me now. We have to get back to the hut." 

Hermione caught up with Draco then tucked her wand back into the pockets of her skirt. "Malfoy, what happened here?" 

Draco didn't answer. Hermione searched his face but saw nothing but a slight flinch. She narrowed her eyes and for the first time spotted his bloody shoulder. 

"Oh my God! Malfoy! Your shoulder! What happened to it?" 

Draco grunted and shrugged painfully. 

"Are you all right?" Hermione asked, concern seeping through her voice. She reached out to touch his shoulder but her arm fell and her knees gave out. Immediately, Draco rushed to her side, catching her by the waist before she crumpled to the ground. 

"What happened?" she asked softly, dizzily. "You really weren't trying to advantage of me, were you." 

"No," came the solemn answer. 

Draco held her up and she felt strangely warm in his arms. Hermione nodded and closed her eyes, zapped of her strength. She wanted so badly to sleep. 

She felt Draco shaking her shoulders and demanding that she wake up. 

Hermione protested weakly, "But I'm so tired." 

Draco helped her onto her feet, his hands unusually gentle as he held her. 

Hermione was able to walk around again but her head buzzed with exhaustion. And yet, the way _he_ walked, wincing with every step… "Does your shoulder hurt badly?" she inquired. 

"No," he answered curtly as he helped Hermione cross over a fallen tree from the storm. But just as she gingerly stepped down, he winced and before he could stop himself, a hand covered his shoulder blade. 

"Liar," accused Hermione gently. She grabbed his once-white sleeve now filthy with dirt and blood. "Let me see of there is anything I can do to stop the bleeding. You must feel faint -- I know I do right now and there is hardly a scratch on me." 

Draco shrugged and maintained his glacial demeanor. "I don't need your help," he said coldly. "Besides, it's not the bleeding that is bothering me." 

This time, Hermione grabbed Draco's wrist with both hands. "Don't be stubborn. It's for your own good." 

Draco whipped around and snatched his hand away from Hermione's now-warm touch. "My own good? Who are you trying to be? My mother?" 

"Look," said Hermione firmly, despite the fact that she swayed from fatigue. "I am doing you a favor by offering to tend your blasted shoulder, all right? Besides, I am quite faint because I probably lost blood for some reason and I will not be able to protect your crippled self if something was to attack us. I can barely defend myself and I will not have a bleeding person walking around, attracting werewolves and vampires with the scent of your stupid and stubborn blood!" 

Draco blinked at the irony. Attract vampires? Oh, he already did that. But she did have a point. Werewolves were bound to smell his blood. He glanced down at his shoulder and grimaced. The wound was getting worse. It would soon be infected if not tended to soon. "Protect me," he scoffed as he sat down on the ground and leaned his back against a rock. "Can you really tend wounds?" he asked quietly and seriously. 

Biting her lip, Hermione nodded. "Yes. Sort of. Um, I need you to take off your shirt," she said tentatively. 

Draco blinked. 

"Well, it's simply impossible to tend a wound like this with a dirty piece of cloth stuck to it," she retorted indignantly, though her face was a weak shade of red. 

Groaning a bit, Draco began to work on the white buttons to his shirt. "Granger, do me a favor and don't mention this night to anyone." He hesitantly looked down at his shoulder once more and found Hermione's small, white hand gently caressing it. He laid his head back on the boulder and closed his eyes, suppressing a small shiver of delight. 

Hermione winced. This wound was deeper than she had expected. Her insides were shaking uncontrollably, and she was surprised to find that her hands weren't shaking at all. Cringing, she poked at a fleshy part of the wound. He twitched and Hermione apologized instantly. 

She couldn't very well stop the bleeding and wished that she had taken that Magical Healing class she was offered at the beginning of the year. She reached out and grabbing Draco's shirt in the cleanest spot, she ripped it with her teeth. 

"Hey! What the hell are you --" Draco paused in mid-yell and bit back a moan. That mark. That _fucking_ mark! 

Hermione took advantage of this and patted the shirt gently against the bleeding shoulder. "Don't argue," she said soothingly. "Now, I am going to wrap it around your shoulder, all right? It'll stop the bleeding. A little bit of it anyway. Just lean in towards me --" 

"No!" Draco yelled suddenly. 

Hermione jumped. She paused and stared at him in question. 

"I-I mean," Draco stuttered and fished to find the right excuse. He couldn't very well let Hermione see the mark on his back! He snatched the cloth from Hermione's hand and skillfully wrapped it around his shoulder. When he finished, he stared at his muddy bloodstained hands, unable to meet her gaze. 

"Why did you…" Hermione trailed off then shook her head. "I don't even want to know; well let's go on then. Are you all right?" 

Draco stood up and put a hand on the shoulder to steady himself. "Yes, I'm all right." 

Hermione fidgeted while walking with Draco. She was suddenly noticing how soft the Slytherin robes were. Did all the Slytherin have this simple luxury or was it just to Draco because of his wealth? 

They finally reached the edge of the forest and Hermione saw the faint flickering gleam of the fire in the fire place from Hagrid's hut. An immense surge of relief coursed through her but something still nagged in her mind. It was this: what happened while she was unconscious? Draco would obviously not tell her and that bloody shoulder… And what was he doing on top of her when she regained consciousness? She really thought that he was trying to take advantage of her! Hermione began to giggle a bit at the absurdity of the situation. Or maybe she was delirious. 

By the time the two reached the hut, thankful that Hagrid wasn't back yet, Hermione entered the wooden hut, checked on the snitchers, and collapsed on the couch. She would have started to sleep immediately if Draco hadn't shook her. 

"It's past midnight, Granger. Our detention is over," said Draco wearily. 

Reluctantly, Hermione sat up. "You're going to go back like _that_, without your shirt or anything?" 

Draco shrugged. "I really don't have a choice, do I?" he eyed the black cloak Hermione was wearing. She caught that glance began to unclasp the cloak. Draco immediately pulled it back over her. 

"No. No, just wear it…just…come on." He hastily turned around and walked away from Hermione. 

Hermione narrowed her eyes and clasped the clock back on. She started to follow Draco out of the hut but suddenly remembered something. "Wait!" she said. Bending down, Hermione set the key down under the straw mat in front of the door. She saw Draco looking back, waiting for her in the front. 

They reached the castle entrance and Hermione asked Draco once more, "Do you want your cloak back?" 

He seemed to be contemplating his answer. Hermione wondered also. She wanted to keep the cloak, just as an excuse to see him again. She acknowledged this, all the while wondering, why was she suddenly thinking like this? 

"No, just keep it until tomorrow's detention and give it back to me," he finally said. 

Hermione gently smiled at him. "How is that shoulder? You had better get that properly fixed before it gets infected." 

Draco didn't answer once again and Hermione heaved a rankled sigh. 

Finally she said, "Looks, uh, like I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose." She turned around and walked back into the castle. 

Draco watched Hermione silently and he sighed. Looking back at the forest, he thought of the metallic woman who called herself the Red Widow. He wondered how she could know of all of that business with Tom Riddle. He turned away and headed towards the castle. 


	10. Divided Attractions, Triangle of Paths

**Notification**: I have read the fifth book. Didn't like it, doesn't fit with my story line. Please read this fanfiction with no regard to book number five. So in other words, yes, Sirius is still alive (albeit not mentioned much), Harry is still the nice boy (heaven knows it's hard enough to have him pissed off for five chapters), Dumbledore never got expelled (regarding book number five, of course), and Professor Umbridge never happened. Thank you. 

**Author's Notes**: I know I am extremely late with this chapter but I have to say thank you to everyone who reviewed and are sticking with this one. It's been a real roller coaster ride, and the ride's still going. But I've found that I can seek refuge in writing and that's what I am doing right now. :) Another reason for this tardiness is that I have re-written this chapter literally four times. The name of this chapter is: "Chapter 10 new new new one" in my file. I literally dumped about thirty or forty pages of work while writing and yet re-writing this piece. Yes, I am a perfectionist freak . . . 

By the way, thanks everyone, the people who e-mailed me and for all of the encouragement in the reviews. I know it seems that I am putting it lightly but I'm not. Just to let you all know, your concern really meant (and still does) a lot to me. 

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**The Passion of Hate and Love**   
Chapter 10: Divided Attractions; the Triangle of Paths   
Written by Callisto Callispi 

The headmaster took a good swig of some butterbeer and looked over the letter once more. A message from Lucius Malfoy, no matter how ridiculously proposed, was not to be ignored. It read: 

_Dear Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,   
We at the Department of Non-Magic People Security deem it absolutely necessary to dismiss the students of non-magical parentage currently studying at the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. As you also may have heard, the rumors of the revival of the Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, is not to be contained any longer, but dealt with as soon as possible. For these reasons and for their safety as well, we insist that those students of non-magical parentage be removed from the premises no later than January 21. Our representative, Mister Lucius Malfoy shall grant an audience for open negotiations during the seventh of December at the school. Please prepare for the meeting and the dismissal of the students. _

Yours Truly,   
Aldrich Finkle, head of the Department of Non-Magic People Security 

Dumbledore sighed. The letter arrived mid-November, just days after Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy had gotten into another one of their quarrels and blown up a portion of the Gryffindor sections of the stadium. 

Despite the fact that yes, rumors of the Dark Lord grew increasingly disturbing, Dumbledore also suspected that Lucius did not appreciate his only son getting into so much trouble for "breaking a few measly rules," as he nastily put, and encouraged the support of banning muggle-born children from the school. And Lucius knew full well that two muggle-borns were the Head Boy and Girl of the school; Gregory Hawking and Hermione Granger. 

Dumbledore sighed once more. The days were getting numbered when the muggle-born children would be safe. Dumbledore knew that Voldemort would rise once more. And worse, the department knew that he had knowledge of Voldemort's rise. Though he hated admitting it, Dumbledore felt that the muggle-borns would be safer in their own homes rather than at Hogwarts where rumors of an "inside source" here was plotting against them for some sort of power, and Albus had an inkling of what they were after. 

The headmaster held a firm promise that there would never be a repeat of the Chamber of Secrets. He and his staff personally saw that the Chambers were closed after Harry Potter had faced and triumphed over Voldemort. But then again Salazar was never straight out with his plans. He was always the devious one who would always have something hidden for future reference, something always out of sight so no one could find it until it was too late. Any nook and cranny could lead to it and unfortunately, Dumbledore nor his staff found any such leading nooks. But Albus knew it was there — whatever it was, whether the nook led to an item or even a new corridor — waiting for good or evil to open it and spill out its magical secrets that mortals hadn't set eyes on since the ancient times. 

Unfortunately, the staff weren't the only people who sought after that mysterious power. It seemed that Voldemort also wanted it for himself, perhaps to completely rejuvenate his former form which his power had been the strongest. And Dumbledore knew fully well how a Voldemort in his mid-thirties could operate. Tom Riddle always had potential, admittedly greater than what Dumbledore himself knew of. 

For the third time, the headmaster sighed wearily, taking the last drink of his butterbeer. He had neglected to write back. He scorned their demands for sending the muggle-borns home early, refusing to singling out a certain minority -- there was too much of that in the world nowadays. No, he wouldn't close just a part of the school. If he had to rid of someone or some group, the whole school went with them. This was the doctrine he had followed by all of his life and wasn't about to bend backward to gain the favor of Lucius Malfoy. 

Settled on this decision, Dumbledore decided he would loiter no longer and tomorrow, he would pen back his response. With that, he exited his office and headed towards his own room. 

**

-x-x-

**

Draco stumbled into his dormitory bathroom, grabbing a bottle of tonic and a box of cotton balls. As soon as he faced the bathroom mirror, Draco tore away the makeshift bandage that Hermione had wrapped around him. Dipping the cotton ball into the tonic, he placed it upon the fleshy part of his wound. He flinched, feeling as if he had placed liquid fire upon himself, but Draco could see results almost immediately as the large wound began to slowly close up. 

He retrieved some fresh bandages from his room and then wrapped it loosely around his wound, disposing of the mud-crusted ones. However, just when he was about to tie it in the back, Draco noticed something peculiar on his shoulder blade. He squinted and craned his neck to see what it was. With a gasp, he realized that it was the faint outline of his mark. 

"Oh no," Draco gasped, trying to get a better view of the bolding, black outlines of the mark. "But they said it wouldn't show!" 

Lucky that Granger didn't see it. 

Wearily, Draco placed the tonic into the medicine cabinet along with the cotton balls then made his way into the shower, trying to shake off the nagging little thought of just having Madame Pomfrey take care of this massive wound. Instead he quelled the temptation and washed away crusting blood framing his muscles. 

Ten minutes later, he made his way into his room, put on a crisp night shirt, then went to bed. Draco closed his eyes with a look of utter serenity clouding his expression. But inside, he could feel the gears turning inside of his busy mind.He would have to write to his father about the issue of this mark, no matter how much he despised communicating with him. But if the headmaster caught him with the mark on his back, it was more than enough to send him to Azkaban for ten years. 

Draco opened his eyes with a frustrated sigh. What a night. He still couldn't believe anything. And despite the issue with his mark, the absurdly insignificant bit of news regarding the Founding Four haunted his mind. Salazar Slytherin and Rowena Ravenclaw were lovers! Draco shuddered. To think that the two members of the Founding Four shared a bed. 

To him, it sounded almost heretical. It was like first finding out what your mother and father did to conceive a child. It was stamped onto every student's mind that the Founding Four's legacy was the stuff made of almost childish legends. The Founding Four were considered as icons and to each other, brothers and sisters. Before this, it never occurred to Draco that the founder of his House was indeed but a man and a man obligated to have his own desires. 

Draco let out a great sigh and opened his eyes. He sat up and stared out his window towards the Forbidden Forest, wondering how such a creature existed and how she could have the fortune to know Salazar . . . _really_ know the man. 

Salazar Slytherin had been found dead by a student. He had been slashed by what seemed like the blade of a sword. What historians assumed was that Salazar took a mistress whom he had loved beyond life and one of his other jealous lovers killed him. Draco thought it was all whimsical, romantic fancy. In his mind, Salazar was like his father: incapable of love and totally frigid towards anything not in his favor. 

Even now, Draco knew that he resembled his father. 

He sighed and laid back down, wondering if he would ever be able to fall asleep any time soon. After five minutes, Draco knew that the answer was a definite no. Frustrated, Draco got up, put on a white shirt and some comfortable dress pants, threw his Slytherin cloak over his shoulders then ventured out, his mind protesting rather fervently, but his legs taking their own path. Perhaps a nice walk would calm his nerves. Besides, no one would be out -- it was about three in the morning and even Peeves had to have his rest. 

He walked quietly out of the dungeons to no where in particular. He silently thought of what the black-robed men had told him when receiving his mark. He would bet his life that they had told him and his father that the mark would definitely not show. But why was it darkening _now_ of all times! 

"Damn it," he muttered. 

"Malfoy?" he heard someone hiss behind him. 

Draco whipped around, scanning the darkness for any unwelcome visitors. Then, to his complete surprise, Hermione Granger stepped out of the shadows, her arms clutched tightly at her sides. 

"What are you doing here?" he snarled angrily partly due to the fact that she had surprised him. He hated surprises. But as his eyes grazed over her pale, pale features, the scowl on his lips softened. 

He took a step closer to her, and when she didn't back away, he reached out hesitantly, and his fingers grazed her cheek. Her skin was icy cold. 

"You're pale," he said simply, finding nothing else he could say. 

"Quite inquisitive of you." Then, as if suddenly aware of the closed distance between the two of them, she took two quick steps behind her. "What are you doing here?" 

Draco stared around the large hall he was in and then realized that he had stumbled into the hospital wing. He then focused back on Hermione, seeing that his robe hung over on one bare arm. Draco stared at her shivering form, pitying the sight of her. All she had one was a night-shirt of the Chudley Canons and a pair of gray, loose-fitting cotton pants, and she seemed dreadfully cold in just that. 

"I couldn't sleep," he answered. "You?" 

For a moment, even in the frail light of the moon, Draco could have sworn that he could see a weak blush forming around her cheeks. 

"Well, I—I had actually been wondering if you had really chosen to follow my advice and come to get Madame Pomfrey's help." 

"Concerned? Over me? How sweet," he sneered. 

She glared at him in exasperation. "I don't even know why I concern myself over your sake so much. After all, you're nothing but a slithering little snake. Just like that nasty crest on your robes." 

"What news. Really, Granger, I could never have thought you felt that way." 

"And you know what? I hope you don't get well and all. In fact, I wish that I haven't covered up that wound so you would shrivel up like a raisin." 

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I hear a note of malignity? From the _head girl_? Well, I shouldn't be surprised that you wish for my death. After all, many do." 

Hermione blinked then looked away, possibly in shame. "Death? I don't wish you to die, Malfoy. It was just a joke." 

"Not what I said." 

An awkward silence followed. He ginned flippantly, though he felt just the opposite that his expression suggested. 

"You don't mean that." When she saw his smirk grow, she scoffed and replied, "Malfoy, you aren't going to die soon anyway. Death is too good for you." 

"I'm too good for death, you mean," he said slyly. 

"And I also hope that you fall on your face so your nose will be broken and wretched. Perhaps that will tone down that gigantic ego of yours." 

Draco chuckled. 

"I'm being quite serious, Malfoy." 

"Granger, Granger, Granger," he said, walking a smooth circle around Hermione. "Don't you know that is my only weapon against you? My only dagger hidden within my deep, _dark_ cloak? And you ask me to blunt my edge?" 

Hermione rolled her eyes and placed a hand on his robe sleeve to stop him in his tracks. She stared directly into the stormy gray eyes of her foe and said in an incredibly presumptuous tone, "Your arrogance is your weapon against me?" 

"Not just that. I am my own weapon. My demeanor, my charm—" 

"What charm?" 

"—And my dashing looks," said he, pulling away from her with an enigmatic smile. "Don't I intrigue you, just a bit?" 

"You must think me as one of your mindless admirers," she remarked. "I do not fall for your so-called charms as easily as the others do." 

He neglected to respond, finding himself so lost in his own thoughts. Draco felt something stirring in his stomach, and before he had a chance to get properly horrified at his sudden reaction regarding this late-night meeting (_tryst!_ his mind screamed), he found that he thought her quite attractive, standing here so defiantly in front of him in the middle of the night. He saw that her body was cold, and the thought that he would be the one to warm her seemed awfully tempting. He saw her look back at him boldly, triumphantly, with that bright burning flame in her dark eyes teasing and taunting him. She thought that she had bested him, and it amused him so that he wanted to laugh and pat her cheek. 

Then, something clicked in his mind, and Draco turned away, almost in shame of what he had just seen in her. Of course, it was a given that he would never ever find her, a muggle-born in Gryffindor, attractive, and she would never find him attractive either. It was against his morals. Their morals. Closing his eyes, he assured to himself that this moment of _enlightenment_ regarding her . . . image . . . was nothing but an instance of sudden lust. A lust driven by his thoughts of self-pity and self-righteousness that clouded his mind. 

He opened his eyes and sighed, breathing out the nonsensical fantasies of the Gryffindor Head Girl from himself. Yes, these fancies were the result of the traumatic events of this night. That little instance scared him for a moment there. 

_"You must think of me as one of your mindless admirers . . ."_ her voice echoed hauntingly in his mind. 

He could not help but recollect the faces of the beautiful women he had seen emerge from his father's chambers when his mother was away somewhere else in Europe. He remembered the pink flushes on their beautiful, sweat-moistened faces. He remembered how their elegant hands so greedily clutched those few, glittering galleons as they smiled courteously at him before making their way out. Was he so like his father? Draco shuddered. Never. 

"Naive," he muttered, staring at her. 

He saw her tilt her head in question. 

Draco smirked wryly. He ran a hand through his damp hair. "Don't worry about any sort of advances physically or mentally. Rest assured, it will never happen. I repeat: never." He saw relief, no matter how subtle, relax her features. And that, be it Hermione Granger or not, took a minor toll on his masculine pride. 

_You think you are better than me, little Miss Perfect?_ Draco's mind taunted as he moved toward her. 

"Rest assured that I will never corner you in a hallway. I would never touch you anywhere inappropriate." His fingers grazed the side of her neck where the two faint puncture marks made by the Red Widow were. Leaning in slightly to face her, he whispered, "I would always refrain myself from taking advantage of you." 

"Get away, Malfoy," Hermione said in reply, shoving him away from her by the shoulders. "This is serious. Don't joke about these things, especially here." 

He laughed slightly, feeling Hermione's death glare on his face. "If you're worried about . . . what happened tonight, when you woke up, trust me, I was attempting nothing but to carry you back to the castle." 

Her eyes flared, almost like a warning beacon. "Don't fool with me," her gaze told him. 

"I promise," he said in a joking way with his hand over his heart, "that I will never attempt such a thing." 

Hermione smiled in wry amusement. "Fine, I'll humor you in this little banter of yours. You made a promise, and you are bound to keep that promise on the threat that . . ." Hermione spotted a glinting silver ring on his ring finger " . . . On the threat that you giving me that ring." 

He looked down at his hand. "This?" He stared at the crest. It was his family's crest. If he lost this, his father would probably slaughter him three times over. "We have a wager." 

Suddenly, he felt a burning twinge on his shoulder blade, and it wasn't his wound. Automatically, his hand shot up towards the mark. 

"Malfoy, are you all right?" said Hermione, surprised. "It's that shoulder wound, isn't it? I knew that it was serious. You must get some help." 

Draco snorted, clenching his teeth and letting his hand fall to his sides. He didn't even let out a whimper during his branding and he would not have this girl sympathize over a temporary sting every now and then, even if she referred to a different wound. 

"I don't need anyone's help, thank you. I'm perfectly fine. Perhaps it is you that needs the help." 

"Why are you so nasty?" 

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Did I ask for you concern? It's really none of your business. You really are the one to see the nurse. A blood transplant will do you good—" 

"Don't mind me," she replied tartly, brushing away his anxiety. "I'm healthy. But how is that shoulder? How did you get it to stop bleeding?" 

Draco smirked smugly. "I'll have to admit this since you'd probably find out sooner or later. As soon as I came back in, I snuck into Madame Pomfrey's medicine cabinet . . ." 

Hermione widened her eyes. "You stole it from her? You stole medicine from Madame Pomfrey? That has got to be a first—" 

"So what? She was going to use it on me anyway." 

Hermione looked down at the ground, chewing on her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Oh yes, I nearly forgot, here." She handed him his cloak and hesitantly, Draco took it from her. He saw that it was washed and dried, and he wondered if she had done it just for him. The thought comforted him in some way even if that process could have been easily performed with a slight flick of a wand. 

"Look," she started once again, fiddling with the orange cotton of the Chudley Cannons shirt. "Malfoy, you know that I want to know what happened this night." 

Draco frowned. 

"But I won't ask you. Not right now. I know that it's probably going to be this long story, and it'd probably be better being told when we're not standing outside of the hospital wing in the middle of the night. But I do want some sort of an answer, and you and I both know that I deserve an answer." 

Draco neglected to respond. 

"All right, Malfoy?" 

"Look," Draco said, rubbing his eyes wearily. "Let's talk about this tomorrow. I'm quite tired." 

Hermione stayed silent for a few seconds, staring at Draco with an expression of mixed anger and fatigue, then sighed. "All right. Fine, we'll do it your way. Tomorrow, then. I'm going to bed. Oh, one more thing . . ." 

Draco raised both of his eyebrows in question. Hermione fidgeted with her nails before speaking. "You said that you snuck into the hospital wing, right?" 

"Yes, so what?" 

"Did—did you see Harry?" Her voice seemed squeezed, as if she knew she had asked a question that shouldn't be asked. And Draco felt the same way as her. 

"Potter?" he spat with narrowed eyes. "Well, I must say that I did glimpse his hideous face a few times, but I didn't hex him if that's what you're afraid of." He said this in a scathing tone, almost as if he resented the fact that Harry Potter was favored over him in her eyes. 

"Malfoy," she said gently. "I know that you wouldn't have done anything to harm Harry while he's in the hospital bed. Grant me some credit, I do know you, seeing as how we've hated each other for six years." 

"Then why'd you ask?" he demanded feverishly. 

"I was just curious over Harry's health." 

"Do you always concern yourself over anothers sake?" Draco asked cynically. 

Hermione smiled slightly. "Not always . . ." 

From the background, the soft, deep chimes of a grandfather clock struck four times. 

"I should be going to sleep . . ." She paused, staring at him curiously. "You should too. Good night, then." She turned around and walked to the Gryffindor dormitories. 

"Wait, Granger. Are you sure you're all right?" 

Hermione turned around and flipped her hand towards him in an exasperated manner. "Of course I am. Just a bit tired is all." 

Draco nodded but nevertheless trailed her to her dorm due to . . . Actually, he never uncovered a certain reason why he had trailed after her that night. Of course it wasn't because he really cared for her. That was preposterous, since he was in Slytherin and she in Gryffindor. He could excuse his earlier momentary lust, but really caring for the girl? No, that would require a good explanation, and Draco hated the thought that he was getting soft when matters concerned his little—_the_ little Gryffindor. 

Draco fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillows. But the fact that he had become unreasonably jealous when she expressed her concern over Potter did seriously disturb him, for there was truly nothing that he and Potter had to compete over—except quidditch. Particularly the attention of a Gryffindor female. 

But now, as Draco found himself wandering around in his own oblivious slumber, nothing concerned him, not even the fact that the mark on his back was getting darker and darker by the second. 

**-x-x-**

Ron breathed in the chilly air, enjoying the view of the falling snowflakes. 

"First snow of the year," he said to Hermione who was probably still half-asleep next to him. "It came late. First sign of snow on the first of December. Wonder why Jack Frost didn't pay us a visit earlier, eh, Hermione?" He waited for an answer, a response of any kind, but none came. "Hermione? Hello? Anyone home up there?" 

Her eyes half-closed she murmured something so incoherent that Ron wondered if she were drugged. 

"Hermione?" he said, putting his hands on her shoulders and shaking her rigid form gently. "Are you all right?" 

In an instant, her eyes shot open. "Ron, don't do that. I have this splitting headache . . ." 

"Well you seem like you do. You look like a fright!" 

"Thanks, Ron," Hermione answered sarcastically. 

"Maybe you should go to the nurse." 

"And miss my classes? Especially this one? You should know me better than that, Ron," Hermione scolded lightly. "Besides, Professor Sprout told us to collect some of those winter greens. Did you get any?" 

Ron stared around themselves, staring at the pines in disgust. "Yes, I did, no thanks to you. We should have gone over to the clearing like the others. Winter greens don't grow around trees, you know." 

"Oh, stop complaining, Ron. Think of this as returning about a few dozen favors. Remember when I helped you with that transfiguration exam? And the Wizard Law course. Oh, and don't forget—" 

"I know, I know," said Ron, holding his hands up in defeat. "You don't have to remind me." 

Hermione nodded in a satisfied way and plucked a winter green from Ron's hands. Brining it up to her nose, she took a slight whiff of it, recoiled, then handed it back to her counterpart. "At least it'll remain fresh for a week or two. It'll be more effective in that new antidote we're making. Now all we have to collect are the pink moss, the swamp weeds, and the—" 

"Have I told you how glad I am to have you as a partner?" asked Ron with a laugh. 

"Hm, yes, well I'm sure you and Harry would have gone for the shriveled old winter greens in the clearing instead of going for that extra mile." 

"You know us too well." 

"How is Harry? I didn't get a chance to visit him yesterday or today. I think I might give him the homework assignment we got in Charms. I'm sure he won't want to miss out on that." 

"Hermione, Harry told me to tell you to stop giving him so many assignments. He says he has already been excused from the work if he didn't get it so you're sort of taking away his free ticket. And he's doing good, much better than yesterday, I'll tell you." 

Hermione glowered for a few seconds. "How will you _ever_ learn anything if you don't do the work?" 

Ron winked. "Having you as a study buddy. Cramming in information before the tests also got me out rather nicely." 

Together, they walked towards Professor Sprout and gave her the winter greens. From there, she squashed it into a vial marked "Granger and Weasley". From there, the class headed back to the Herbology glass house and started mixing the ingredients for the antidote together. 

"By the way," said Ron. "I heard that Zabini was let out." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah. It seems the chap's still a bit wobbly from the poison but is well enough to have double potions with us tomorrow. And I think he's in your Arithmancy class?" 

Hermione stared at the sickeningly purple brew, nodding slightly. "Yes, I have that class next hour." 

Blaise's face came alive in the reflection of the potion. Hermione sort of felt sorry for him. To her, he seemed like an almost decent person -- and polite, for a Slytherin. But Draco . . . he told her that Blaise was a death eater. She shook her head slightly to rid herself of the thought. She did _not_ want to think of any Slytherins today, especially not Draco. She almost thought that the meeting in front of the hospital wing was still a strange dream. 

Next to her, Ron's elbow jabbed her arm, splattering some of the antidote on her robe sleeve. 

"Sorry Hermione!" he said, wiping it off with his hand. 

"Oh, it's all right, Ron," she said, a bit embarrassed by his concern. Nevertheless, he managed to get all of it off. 

He let out a heavy sigh then turning to her, he touched her on the shoulder. "Look, Hermione, about the Yule Ball . . ." 

"What about it?" 

Ron looked away for a few seconds, his cheeks turning red. "Look, er, remember at my house, when Mum said that you should go with me and I said no . . ." 

Hermione tilted her head, trying to control the blood rushing to _her_ cheeks. "Yes?" 

"Well, I just wanted to say . . . Er . . ." 

"Yes Ron, I accept your apology." 

His eyebrows shot up, his face turning even redder. "Hermione . . . that's not . . . I mean, an apology?" 

Uncomfortable under Ron's pleading, intense gaze, Hermione moved away, gathering some grounded ferns onto a piece of paper. "You know, you said something like, 'What? With _her_?' when your mum suggested that we go . . . together. It's all right, don't worry about it." 

"But Hermione . . . that's not what I was going to . . . You know, I do apologize. I—I do apologize. Yes, that's—that's what I wanted to say." 

Hermione looked away, not wanted to see the expression on Ron's face. 

"Look, Neville and Dean are calling me over . . . I think they need my help . . ." Ron laughed dryly. "Ironic, isn't it, Head Girl? They ask for me and not you . . . I'll be right back." 

Hermione watched Ron go with a crestfallen heart. He did not return to her. As she collected her books at the end of class, she walked quickly out of the room and headed straight for her Arithmancy class without a look backwards. She did not want to speak with Ron . . . she did not want to speak with anyone. 

She padded silently down the silent, empty halls. This was a favorite passage of hers when heading to Arithmancy. People seldom used it since it was the long way around the school, but Hermione had plenty of time. 

She sighed. Why had she just done that? She wasn't stupid -- it was as clear as day that Ron was trying to ask her to be her partner for the Yule Ball . . . and she really liked Ron. Actually, she loved the red-haired prat but, she didn't _love_ him in that certain way. 

Hermione moaned. She was so angry at herself, so angry that she was stupid enough to turn him down so coldly. She could have just said, "No, I'm sorry, Ron" or even "Please, let's stay as friends" should he have wanted them to take a step further by being a couple. Hermione had to admit, however, that she did not want to hear his voice asking her to the Yule Ball even if she was brave enough to tell him no. She feared it would jeopardize the precious relationship that they had. 

With a mild shock, Hermione then realized that he looked at her as a woman now, a member of the opposite sex. 

"I'm such a fool!" she muttered to herself. "He grew up, Hermione. He _looks_ at you now." 

The realization shocked her and embarrassed her. Perhaps it was too much to hope that nothing would change between them. 

She approached a darkened corridor branching out from the large, main hall. On the wall hung a still painting of two large dragons. It was the painting she had often gazed at, entranced by the vivid hues of red and gold, and the soft tones of earthy brown and melancholy blue. She smiled slightly, her fingertips grazing the surface. This never ceased to comfort her. This painting never ceased to draw her in. Hermione wondered who painted it. The two dragons were portrayed as grand, majestic creatures, almost bound together spiritually, breathing their fearsome flames at the clouds. 

"If only some things would never change," she whispered, ashamed at the way she reacted towards Ron. 

"Some things never do." 

Her heart nearly jolted out of her chest at the sudden ring of that voice. She whipped around, dropping about two books in the process. "Blaise!" she breathed. 

"Settle down. Are you all right?" he asked with mirth twinkling in his eyes. He bent down and collected her books and papers. He handed them over to her. 

"Don't you ever do that again! You scared me half to death!" she said in a shrill whisper, collecting her materials from him. 

Blaise waited for her to regain her composure patiently with slight amusement. 

"What are you doing here spying on me?" she demanded. 

"Oh please, Hermione, you don't own this hallway, much less this corridor." 

He strolled over to the painting and gazed at it. He then turned around with an almost sheepish expression on his tanned face and shrugged helplessly. "I was on my way to Arithmancy, and I saw you here. I decided to say my salutations until you uttered that question. Being a gentleman, I believe I'm rather obligated to answer, it being the polite thing to do." 

Hermione felt her almost-angry shock slipping away with one glance at his disarming smile. "Don't give me that, you just wanted to find an excuse to frighten me." 

"Yes, you've figured me out so well." He then turned towards the painting and Hermione sidled up next to him. They stared at it together in a strangely comfortable silence. 

"Extraordinary," said Blaise casually, tracing the contours gently with his hand. "It's surprising that a muggle could display such skill. It's an incredible piece of work with so much expression in such majestic allegory." 

"An allegory?" 

Blaise pointed at the two dragons, entwined at the tail in an intimate manner. "Look here. They are soul mates, as you can see here. Look below them at the blackened masses. Those are the humans that wish to eradicate the two from the world. Or in a more symbolic sense, try to separate two lovers. Like . . . Romeo and Juliet, I suppose, or any other star-crossed lovers." 

Hermione's brows gathered. 

"But see how these two rose above the strife and they breathe fire at the heavens, challenging the stars to deny them their love." 

Impressed at Blaise's knowledge of such things, Hermione peered closer at the painting and then at him. 

"Of course, I could be wrong and the artist painted all that for the hell of it," he said quickly, clearing his throat. 

Gazing up at his face in an almost admiring manner, Hermione shook her head. "No, you're right, Blaise, the first time. How—how did you gather all of that in such a short amount of time?" 

He shrugged. "I took a humanities class during the summer in Geneva near the Rath Museum. A muggle course which my father required for me to take. After all, I'm planning on going to Florence when I graduate to live with my aunt and uncle for a few years. And you know Florence -- all of that Renaissance, humanism, artsy bustle. " 

With a sly smile, Hermione turned around and started to walk slowly in the direction of her Arithmancy class. Blaise followed her with a bewildered yet curious smile. 

"You were never so artistic," teased Hermione. 

"We've never had a chance to speak," said Blaise with a grin. 

Hermione neglected to answer and turned around, trying to hide a smile. This Blaise Zabini . . . she never knew he was so kind! Hermione also had to admit with a slight blush that he was also quite attractive, now that he had proven his whimsical intelligence to her, with his dark wavy hair cropped in a manner that framed his angular features so beautifully. 

"So how goes detention with my sour class mate?" he asked. 

Hermione's smile slipped, and Blaise noticed. "You know, Malfoy is Malfoy. It's fine, I suppose." 

Blaise chuckled. "My bitter counterpart. He's quite arrogant, but you can't very well help it if you were him. His father, I've heard, is quite the cold and distant man, yet Draco's had everything handed to him ever since he was an infant. Besides, he's a shrewd bastard. He always gets his way somehow." 

"You sound angry," Hermione commented. 

Blaise shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "But he's a companion, you see? Or as close as one can be companions with Draco Malfoy. But I'm not angry, just a bit frustrated at his lack of—" 

"Compassion? Respect? His lack of humility?" 

"You know him well." 

"I know his type well." 

They walked for a few moments more in silence. Hermione was starting to like this tall, handsome, young man's company. He was so different, even from Harry and Ron. For a Slytherin, he wasn't half-bad at all. 

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "I mean, I suppose you were just released from the infirmary after . . . you know." 

"A bit dizzy and fatigued, actually. But I don't care. Anything to get out of that hospital bed. I'm flattered. You are the first one to inquire me about my health." 

"Well I admit I had been a bit worried over both you and Harry. After all, that poison seemed to be extraordinarily powerful . . ." 

"It seems like your insides are being shredded to pieces," Blaise said with a grimace. "It's not fun at all." 

"I can only imagine," Hermione said softly, wondering how Harry fared through this terrible predicament. 

The two were able to make class a few seconds before being officially tardy. Class was especially boring this day as the professor the introduced the lesson on metaphysics before Kant and its relationship (or non-relationship) with magic. The professor then began to scribbled out numerical equations with a variety of signs—which Hermione thought rather irrelevant to this branch of philosophy—on the board and instructed the class to copy some of the formulas down. 

Hermione, though she was ashamed to admit this, found herself consulting Blaise Zabini on such matters regarding their previous lesson whenever the teacher turned her back. Some other girls from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw raised their eyebrows at this verbal exchange and whispered fervently about this amongst themselves during the class. 

The young men stared at Blaise in awe for either one of two reasons. First of all, he was of Slytherin and she of Gryffindor; secondly, Blaise was the first male in the whole class brave enough to pick at an attempt at a conversation with the legendary, perfect-score, pretty Head Girl who was the good friend of the equally legendary Harry Potter. 

Yet, regardless of the curious stares and the snips of gossip she heard, Hermione resumed her conversation as if nothing was happening. After all, she didn't care what the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs thought of her. Anyway, she was the only Gryffindor in the Arithmancy class and Blaise was the only Slytherin so though it did not make perfect sense that these two loners would get along, the situation was understandable. 

All in all, this was not a productive class, and Hermione virtually understood none of the homework she received. Checking her schedule to find an open for an hour and a half, Hermione headed down to the library with her books, bidding Blaise good-bye, though she knew she would miss his company. 

The numbers and the signs stared up at her menacingly, and even Hermione could not begin to explain how this strange equation-like problem related to magic in any way. After a few struggling minutes of searching through the text book and ending up empty, Hermione let out a frustrated groan and snapped the book shut so angrily that the librarian and a few other library-users stopped what they were doing and looked up. Hermione dropped her head on top of the textbook cover and closed her eyes. 

What was wrong with her these days? She relieved her red forehead and turned her head to face the bookshelf. What drove her to speak with Draco Malfoy like that last night? Who knew what that little snake was capable of. She remembered what he said to her, something that she had thought about all night. 

_"Don't I intrigue you, just a bit?"_ he had asked her with that infuriating smile of his. 

And Hermione had been caught so completely off-guard with that question. She had to admit that Draco Malfoy, when she managed to scrape a bit deeper into the _real_ Draco Malfoy, wasn't a terrible person. But Hermione would have rather starved to death than to admit to him that he did indeed intrigue her like no one else before, and she found herself envisioning his stormy, ever-cold eyes and his scathing yet strangely mystifying voice. But he was no angel; he was not a person she could trust. For god's sake, he probably slept with a good portion of all seventh year girls -- of course, many of them quite beautiful or well-bred or both -- just for sake of doing it and proving himself as virile as any of the hormone-crazed young men in the school. Hermione was disgusted with herself for even day-dreaming about that wanton Slytherin and made a silent pact with herself that she would never do it again. 

But last night . . . Did she act foolishly in front of him? Because the last thing that she wanted to appear in his eyes was a dreamy young girl who knew naught what she preached about -- 

"No! Why do I _care_?" Hermione whispered to herself, angry at breaking her own pact of not thinking about him so quickly. 

And added to the confusion was Ron, dear old Ron whom she so coldly turned down when he was about to ask her to be his partner. How could she? How could she! 

As strange as it was, she found herself wanting someone to talk to, someone open to her concerns. She wanted someone who she could talk to, not about Ron, but just about frustrations and life in general. 

The first name that slid into her mind was Blaise. 

"Are you dead?" asked a cold voice with a swish of satin robes. 

Hermione refused to shift from her position for him. She hated him. He confused her about everything -- made her so unsure of herself. She probably hated being clue less more than she hated Draco Malfoy. 

"Go away," she said acidly, impulsively. 

"Fine," came Draco's response. 

Hermione sighed, knowing that with his pride he would really leave rather than face defeat. She looked up, finding Draco's body prepped for walking away with a scowl on his face. 

"Malfoy, come back. I didn't mean it," she said wearily. 

He turned his back on her but stopped. "You sounded as if you meant it, Granger." 

"Well I didn't," she retorted, her temper starting to flare. 

He looked back with a frigid expression, but after awhile, Draco returned and hesitantly took a seat across from Hermione. 

"What are you so angry about today?" Hermione muttered, opening up her metaphysics textbook again, staring at the equations. 

Draco neglected to answer that. "You said you wanted to ask me something about last night," he said instead but stared at her more angrily than he usually did. 

"You know what I want to know, Malfoy, so why don't you spit it out instead of playing around?" she demanded. Hermione was _not_ in a good mood today, especially around Draco. 

He quirked an eyebrow. "Your weak blood pressure," he said in a tone so blunt that Hermione almost fell out of her chair. 

"My—my _weak_ blood pressure?" 

"I suppose it was a bit more cold than I have imagined, Granger," said Draco. "You started shivering and became delirious, talking about moving trees? Then you collapsed on top of me, I fell down and cut my shoulder on a jutting tree branch, then you woke up." 

Hermione laughed dryly. "Malfoy, I fell through thin ice in Sweden during the winter and didn't even get a fever, much less collapse. Stop lying to me, and tell me the truth." 

"It is the truth." 

"You're not a very good liar," she shot back. 

Draco glared across the table. "You are the most rebellious wench that I've ever met!" he hissed. 

Hermione jerked back as if she were slapped. "I'm not a servant to be ordered around, Malfoy. I won't bow down to you and obey your every whim! You spoiled boar, just because you're a Malfoy, you think that you own the world!" she said, her pitch rising steadily with ever word. 

_He called me a . . . wench . . .?_ she wondered, astounded. 

She looked away, finding that her heart had begun to beat about as twice as fast than before. In one quick motion, Hermione grabbed her books and papers. Draco stood up. 

"Where are you going?" he demanded. 

"Away from you!" she said in quiet yet furious tone, getting up. Without waiting for his response, she started to run out of the library, hearing Draco's steps follow her. Just as she ran away from the Great Hall and into a corridor leading to the Gryffindor Head Girl's room, a strong hand from behind her grabbed her arm, pulling it back almost painfully, spilling her books onto the ground. 

"Let me go!" she shrieked, whirling around to push him back with her free arm. 

Draco stumbled only slightly, loosening his grip a bit, but Hermione found that she could not get away from him. 

"Calm down, damn it!" said Draco, irked. 

"Malfoy, let me go," said Hermione, pulling out her wand with her free hand from her robe pockets. When he refused, she pointed the tip to his throat. "For the last time, let me go." 

Even underneath his angry glare, Hermione saw that Draco had enough amusement left in him to manage a thin smirk. "Do you really think your silly little charms could harm me? Don't forget, I have a few tricks up my sleeve," he said calmly, looking towards his own wand sticking out of his pockets. He released her arm. 

Furious, she bent down to collect her books. He helped her with the first few, yet as she reached for the last book, he grabbed it for himself. 

"Give me the book." 

Draco shook his head and flipped through the pages. "You're studying Ancient Runes?" Getting no answer from Hermione, he closed the text and stared at her with a slight smile. "You know, you really must mind your manners. A little 'please' or 'thank you' would take you a long way." 

"Give me the book." 

"Only if you promise to not run away." 

"You first lie to me then you call me a wench. Give me a reason why I shouldn't mangle your face with my fist, much less run away." 

Draco smiled slyly and handed the book back to her. "You wouldn't be able to lay a finger on me." 

She received the text but stayed where she was. "Do you want to wager on that?" she asked, closing her hand in a fist and cocking it back slightly. The twins had taught her a few of their maneuvers during the summer when Fred and George weren't too busy working. 

"Granger, I don't fight with girls . . . and you. Now stop being childish and listen." 

Hermione whipped around and started walking away. "Now I'm childish, and I'm not qualified enough to be a girl?" 

"You're acting childish, for one," he replied, coming up swiftly behind her and grabbing her arms gently with both his hands. "Don't fret, Granger, I noticed your femininity. You know, it's quite amusing to see someone usually so composed act this way." 

She jerked away. "Perhaps you haven't noticed, Malfoy, but you just grind my nerves until there's nothing left in the end but this horrible rage. So just leave me alone before I do something I would regret later . . ." 

"Like when you blew up the Gryffindor quidditch section?" he mused. "I suppose that is something that you do regret now, isn't it?" 

"Excuse me?" Hermione said as she turned around to face him with an outraged expression. "Draco Malfoy, you know very well that I did not blow up that place . . . well, not by myself. Besides, it was all your fault to begin with! If you hadn't picked on Ginny and called me a—" 

Draco placed a finger on her lips, shushing her before she could say anything else. Hermione did get the point and stayed quiet, though she frowned, as if she were confused over his action. 

Draco backed away slowly, letting his hand fall to his sides. He couldn't bear to hear her say "mudblood" any more. He couldn't bear to even hear the word from someone else, and to his surprise, he couldn't say it himself without cringing just a little. 

"Malfoy . . ." 

"Look, Granger," he said, brushing away his earlier moment of emotion. With little effort, he managed to win back the snarl in his voice. His eyes were once again hard and cold, and his lips were curled in a mean little smirk. "Whether you believe me or not, what I say is true. Well, partially true." 

"Why are you lying to me? What happened last night that you don't want to tell me? Malfoy, you can trust me to keep a secret, if necessary. I don't really have anyone to whom I can tell anything right now." 

"Oh?" Draco asked with a raised eyebrow, his voice growing hostile as he remembered her late night inquiry about Harry. "What about Scarhead and the Weasel?" 

Her eyes grew weary. "Never mind about them." 

However, Draco did not stop, feeling something like re-newed envy coursing through his veins. 

"Why should I take the word of a Gryffindor like you?" he demanded. "Why should I even be revealing anything to you?" 

_It's not as if you care for anyone but your precious celebrity and that second-rate excuse of a wizard. And Zabini._ The latter thought made him even angrier. 

"Fine!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't tell me! Don't tell me anything, then, if you are going to be such an beast about it! This is why I cannot stand you, Malfoy. You always turn on me, even when I attempt to make peace. Forget what I said, then. Forget we ever spoke today. Just leave me alone!" 

"Don't walk away from me, Granger!" Draco yelled. 

In response, Hermione swung around and hurled a bottle of ink at his face. Fortunately for Draco, he ducked away just in time to dodge the blow and watched it shatter to the ground, leaving an ugly black stain on the red carpet. Without a word, Hermione resumed her walk, only in a quicker, more desperate pace. 

"Are you running to Blaise Zabini, then?" he snarled from behind her. He smiled nastily as she stopped dead in her tracks. "That's right, Granger, run to that Slytherin churl." 

"What?" 

"You know fully well that he's a death eater. You know that I am right. Have you taken a good look at his forearm lately? The outline is faint but you'll see it, oh you will see it, Granger. The mark, my little Gryffindor," he said in a low voice, cutting in front of her and facing her with a cold stare. "One of Voldemort's lackeys. He's using you, Granger. Why else do you think a death eater would ever want to speak with you? Why would any male want to speak with you except to use you, like Potter and Weasley? When was the last time they bought you a gift of thanks for copying off of your papers?" 

She looked up, obviously trying to conceal her shock and later, the hurt; she was not successful. Draco's cocky, nasty expression slid off of his lips and the corners of his eyes when he saw her wounded look, her dark eyes glittering like black opals. All of his anger evaporated and before he could repent for his spontaneous, envious words, she turned away and ran off. 

"Nicely said, Draco," said a feminine voice from the end of the hall as soon as Hermione completely disappeared from sight. 

He straightened as a scowl began to grow on his face. 

Pansy sidled up next to him, stepping gingerly over the shattered ink bottle and traced a long, elegant finger from his shoulder blades down to his chest. 

"How long have you been here?" Draco asked quietly. 

"Long enough to admire those scathing words against that prissy bitch." 

"The prissy bitch?" he asked, cocking a wry eyebrow at this reference. "Are you sure you aren't speaking of yourself?" 

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "And pray tell, Draco, what else do you call someone who tells you to leave her alone so she could cuddle up with Blaise Zabini?" 

"You've heard the rumors also?" 

"I have. It seems that Blaise is becoming friendly with the Head Girl though I don't know why he chooses to bother with that so-called saint." 

"Just because she's a virgin and you're not doesn't mean that she's a saint. Perhaps compared with you—" 

"Why are you defending her, Draco?" Pansy asked with a pout. "You've changed, darling. It seems you're starting to grow tolerant of that mudblood's existence." 

"I've always been tolerant." 

"Only since about two weeks ago," Pansy drawled, stepping forward a bit towards where Hermione ran off, "when that detention began. I'd say you're getting along pretty nicely, even in the suffocating presence of that awful, frizzy-haired mudblood." 

Draco turned away from Pansy, catching the wince before he could truly reveal his changing feelings. "Really, Pansy, you're mouth is filthy enough. Must you further dirty it?" 

"What, by saying 'mudblood?' Don't be ridiculous, Draco! Are you ill? Don't tell me you are growing fond of her." 

Pansy meant the last part as a cruel jest but Draco took it quite seriously. In an instant, he swirled around to face Pansy and grasped both of her shoulders tightly, almost to the extent where she began to whimper. 

"What was that, Pansy?" he snarled, eyes growing colder by the second. 

"Draco," she said, struggling in his iron grip. "Please, let me go. You're hurting me!" 

He ignored her pleas and only gripped her tighter. "Are you trying to defile my family's name and tradition?" 

Pansy shook her head fervently to spare herself of further pain, but in reality she thought, _She has her hooks in you, Draco. Turn away before you grow feelings that you will later regret._

After a few moments, Draco did release Pansy slowly loosening his muscles as if he forced himself to. His eyes were dangerously wild and cold, like hurricane clouds. He knew that, for a moment, Pansy was frightened of his intense stare. 

**X**

She glared back at him though her heart throbbed at the pace of a rabbit. She knew Draco Malfoy well, and over the years experienced his tempers more than once, whether they were directed to her or not. However, Pansy could not help but get angry at him for all that he put her through. Draco was so unpredictable, and that imposed quite a problem for her, a young girl who was devoutly in love with this wealthy, handsome Slytherin. This was the only reason that she allowed Draco to treat her like a menial and his personal scapegoat, for if she did otherwise, Pansy feared that Draco would throw her away like some used tissue. This prospect, the rejection of one whom she so loved, this was something that she could not even hope to be able to handle. 

Keeping her thoughts in mind, Pansy managed to swallow her anger and forced a small smile on her lips, hoping this would release the dangerous look in his eyes. 

"Draco," she said in her most alluring voice, "let's not argue anymore." 

She saw his fists clench. 

"Draco, please, don't let _her_ ruin our relationship, please!" 

"She not ruining anything," he said coldly. "She never even held a part in our 'relationship' to begin with." 

However, Pansy knew better. She spotted something shift in the way he carried himself whenever that bitch had been mentioned. Something in his scowl changed. The corners of his eyes seem to soften, and his lips went a slight bit lax. A hot surge of envy and frustration rushed through her veins and reached her head. Pansy felt her disappointment so utterly that all she wanted to do was collapse and pound her fists onto the floor. Draco had never even spared an interested glance in her direction . . . not even a small smile to let her know that he did care for her well-being. What was so special about Granger? What captured his attention? Pansy had managed to draw him in to her if only she handled him very carefully. Yet what she had managed in six years, Granger did in only a matter of days. How had she failed so utterly? 

"Why are you so interested in her, Draco?" Pansy demanded, her voice shaking not with fear but with rage. 

"All of the interest I hold for her compares with the little interest I hold for you!" he yelled back. 

"A spell, perhaps," Pansy said loudly while pacing, "some silly little charm to draw you to her. That must be the reason for your fascination with her. It can't be because you think her beautiful." 

"You make as if I am in love with her." 

"You might as well be!" Pansy erupted, feeling immediately repulsed at the thought. "First you chase her down the hallway to speak with her—" 

_Something you hadn't bothered to do for me,_ her mind silently added. 

"—Then you touch those foul lips. And you did it so gently, my dear. What was she about to say, Draco? What offended you so that you stopped her in such a dramatic fashion?" She sneered. "Oh, I did see everything, love. I was willing to let it go, but I'm curious, how did you manage to touch her without retching your breakfast up?" 

"You dirty little eavesdropper," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. 

"Dirty? I'm dirty? Well, then, that mudblood must be the filthiest thing in the world. She is nothing but a pig, do you hear me, Draco? A simple little pig wallowing in the mud of drudgery and peasantry. She's the level of a farm beast—" 

"You keep quiet," he said, voice beginning to rise, yet she did not cease her desperate ramblings, not noticing the threat in his tone. 

"—A low-life, an Untouchable! A good-for-nothing little beast that deserves to be slaughtered. And you, I thought that you were better than that—that _CREATURE_, and yet you touched her and spoke with her! Are you becoming one of them, then—" 

"Be silent!" he yelled and even now, blinded by anger, Pansy did not cease. 

"—A speaker to saintly pigs, one who tolerates dirty witches who're on the same level as farm swine, the lover of mudblood Gryffin—" 

Before Pansy could spot the blur, Draco's hand contacted burningly with her left cheek. She cried out, more in surprise rather than pain since Draco hadn't even put in an effort to hurt her, and he didn't . . . not physically. 

Pansy covered her cheek with her hands. Hot tears began to make its way into her eyes, and she stared up at Draco who looked up at his hand almost in an unbelieving manner. That was truly the first time that he had lost his temper in front of a woman. 

"Pigs," she muttered under her breath like a curse. "Pigs, all of them." 

This remark stirred up his anger once more, despite it suddenly being deflated. Did she never let matters be! Yet this time, he managed to keep his face expressionless; something he had failed miserably at doing for the last five minutes. 

"Aren't you going to apologize!" she nearly shrieked, not even noticing the streaming tears moistening her cheeks. With her curly blond hair in disarray and black make-up running down from her red eyes, she seemed almost like a vengeful demon, ready to devour him. 

Draco closed his eyes for a few seconds then opened them, mostly in alert to whatever she might try to do to him. "Pansy, just let it go." 

She blinked, her long lashes gathering together in soft spikes from her tears. "How can you be so cold!" she demanded. "You just hit me and all you can say is 'let it go?' Let _what_ go!" 

"Just calm yourself," he said, and even he could hear the agitation in his tone. 

"Damn you, not until I hear an apology!" 

"What good will an apology do, Pansy?" he asked, trying his best to keep the snarl out of his voice. He wasn't succeeding. "Will words make you feel that much better? Are you that pathetic? Strengthen your mind and rid those illusions of self-pity!" 

There was a moment of shocked silence, and even Draco could hear how heartless and cruel his remark was. 

"How can you be so cold?" she sobbed and she, too, ran off like Hermione. 

Draco stood there for a few moments, dazed. He had hurt two women in the span of thirty minutes. That had to be some sort of a record for him. Yet he felt a bit strange, almost satisfied and ashamed at the same time for what he had just done. Almost everyone knew that Pansy had some school-girl infatuation with him, and he found it quite annoying. But he really never meant to slap her -- it just happened. 

Draco sighed and covered his face with his hands wearily. How could he resort to striking a woman, for god's sake? Was he that desperate? Did he lose so much control over his emotions? That was the first time that he had felt so burned up about something; it all started unraveling for him when she had called Hermione a mudblood and a farm beast . . . 

Damn that muggle-born witch, she was the cause of this destruction. He should have known better for ever letting her—as Pansy said—attract him so much. After all, women were dangerous creatures, capable of a man's ruin, and if this scene wasn't proof enough, Draco could rely on history to prove his thesis. A woman could bring down a Caesar, an emperor of mighty Rome just by love or mere attraction. 

Draco ran a hand though his hair and made his own way to where Pansy headed: the Slytherin dormitories. Even if he wasn't the least bit sorry for what he did—of course he did feel a twinge of shame for he, after all, did strike a woman—he had to console her somehow. Anyway, he could never allow her to spread this episode around to anyone. It would utterly ruin his image, not to mention his father would hear of it from the Parkinson tycoon, resulting in an earsplitting what-for. 

Even if his intentions weren't completely pure, this was a step away from the ordinary for Draco. He would have never bothered to console anyone whatever the situation; he had left countless of people alone after he had hurt them both physically and emotionally, yet Pansy did strike his sensitivity somehow. Perhaps it was the years that they have known each other. 

Draco grimaced. First the muggle-born, now this. Was he growing soft? The thought repulsed him. 

**X**

Hermione was surprised to find a stray tear escaping and making its way down her cheek. Hastily, she wiped it away and kept her face resolute, refusing to show any signs of sadness. She failed miserably as her brows gathered together, and her tears barely escaped her squeezed eyes, her heart hurting only in way that would hurt when someone she had begun to trust suddenly ripped her apart. 

She rounded a darkened corridor, trying to keep to the shadows so none would see her cry. 

"Who goes there?" a voice boomed. Peeves. 

The apparition suddenly appeared in front of her and said in a mocking tone: "Oh! What do we have here? The Head Girl! Why is she crying I wonder?" 

Then the poltergeist started dancing a ridiculous jig in mid-air, poking at her and saying in a sing-song voice, "Did you get a ninety-nine out of one hundred? Did Potter finally kick the bucket? Or did that Weasley lose his house?" 

At the mention of her two friends, Hermione looked up furiously. "Peeves, if you carry on, I will have you evacuated from the school!" 

He ignored her, singing—while dancing around in a circle around her: _"The red-eyed Head Girl! What a little churl! Always so perfect!—"_

"Away!" 

In an instant, Peeves was gone in a cloud of colorful smoke. Hermione heard the little creature's scream of anger as it was transported magically to the other side of the castle. She turned around only slightly, still ashamed of her glossy eyes, to find a familiar head of dark hair staring at her, wand still raised from performing that spell. 

"Hermione?" Blaise said from behind her, in a concerned and bewildered voice. 

She turned away quickly, mortified to see that Blaise had caught her in this moment. "B-Blaise! What a surprise to see you—um, thanks for that. Quite the little monster isn't he? Though if Peeves reports you, then you'll get into so much trouble, I don't know if I'm going to be able to cover for you—you really should have let me handle things—" 

She stopped her mindless ramblings as soon as his warm hand touched her shoulder. 

"Are you all right?" 

Hermione didn't respond for a few moments. She closed her eyes, hearing Draco's scathing comment in her ears: _"He's using you, Granger. Why else do you think a death eater would ever want to speak with you . . ."_

"Hermione, answer me," Blaise pleaded softly, yet—perhaps it was out of respect for her—he did not confront her. He did not face her for he knew that it was not what she wanted him to do. Instead, he patiently waited behind her, waiting for her to properly collect herself. 

After a few minutes, Hermione did just that and after wiping her eyes for the final time, she forced a small laugh. "Silliest thing, you see. I got a nasty shock over Harry's condition. Luckily, it was a false alarm." Hermione still did not face him, but she got the feeling that Blaise did not believe her. 

Except, he said gently, "Of course," from behind her, always so patiently waiting. 

And again, Hermione's brain raced. _How could he be a death eater? They are never so kind, so gentle. Please, he can't be a death eater, he can't! Please . . ._ And yet, her most central thought was _how could Malfoy say such a thing to me?_

Blaise, meanwhile, took out a handkerchief from a pocket. He made his way next to Hermione, and gingerly, placed the cloth upon her moist skin. The white cloth barely touched her cheeks before Hermione jerked away from him, staring at his hand wearily and suspiciously, torn between the prospect of accepting his token of friendship and refusing on the basis of a hunch. Yet if Draco could hurt her by denouncing her relationship with Blaise—along with Harry and Ron—in such a surprising way, who knew how this would turn out if Blaise did really turn out to be a true death eater and . . . someone who used her. 

"I promise it's washed, Hermione," he remarked, letting a careful smile emerge. 

_Friend or enemy?_ she wondered, cursing Draco all the same. Always black and white. There were no grays with him, and he didn't want her to experience any gray moments either, the bastard. She took the cloth from him, and as soon as she felt the cotton between her fingers, Hermione was relieved. Blaise flashed her one of his brilliant smiles, and Hermione found herself letting out a soft chuckle, something of unforced quality that had a refreshing ring of originality to it. 

"Thank you," she said, wiping the bottom of her eyes. 

Blaise shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets. "It's the only gentlemanly thing to do." 

Hermione thought over this, wondering if their encounters would always occur this way, as him surprising her so pleasantly every time. She smiled. Death eater or not, she couldn't hope to shun him just because of a silly mark on his arm. Besides, she didn't see anything anyway. 

"You really shouldn't cry. It would break any man's heart, it would, your tears. Who did this to you, Hermione?" 

She shook her head, running one slim finger over the small wet spot on the white cloth. "Please don't ask me about it now, Blaise. You're very kind, and I hate to say this so coldly to you, but I'd really rather not talk about it with you or anybody, as a matter of fact." 

She looked up at him apologetically. His face betrayed a melancholy expression, and seeing his lips in such a thin line made her eyes more sorrowful. But she still did not tell Blaise anything, and he did not question her. Instead, he shook his head. 

"You're a difficult person to figure out, Hermione. I suppose it's one of your many charms, though I do admit that I feel a bit deserted being left out." He smiled at her so kindly, even with this confession. 

_Draco wouldn't have done that,_ she thought to herself. _He would have sneered and swore. How different they are! How so very different!_

And she was quite happy with this certain boundary line set in between them. Admittedly, there were times when she found Draco's enigmatic and reserved personality a breath of fresh winter air after hours near the blazing hearth, but she found that being with Blaise was like being next to a friend of many, many years, one who would be so kind and so good and so understanding. It was amazing to see that such a man of the Slytherin house could have a personality so charming. She felt herself drawn to Blaise for a moment, staring into his dark eyes so exotic and new, and then she felt so tempted to spill out her everything said in her spat with Draco. But Hermione kept silent, and—in an uncanny way—Blaise seemed to truly grasp that she would not tell him anything if she did not want to. 

He muttered something under his breath, perhaps it included the word 'stubborn,' but he still smiled at her, perhaps it growing a bit tired and weary. 

"Why aren't you in class, Head Girl? Don't tell me you are ditching." 

"Don't be absurd, Blaise. I have a free hour and a half . . . No, make it forty-five minutes now. I thought I would study, but it seems that my concentration skills have decided to go on break for awhile—" 

"Say no more," he said, holding his hand up. "The metaphysics assignment, correct? Don't feel left out—it'll boggle anyone's brains for half an hour in the least. Well, let me tell you, after countless references to the books, I managed to find the correct formula—mind that I said formula, not the answer nor the way to actually do it correctly." 

"It's further than I got," Hermione said rather glumly, almost in a grudging manner that someone other than her managed to get further on an extraordinarily difficult assignment. 

Blaise studied her a moment, his head tilted. "Do you—do you want to take a look at it, then? I trust by the look on your face that you've practically given up on the that paper. I admit I have been hoping to run into you. You see, I know you are skilled in the uses of formulas." 

Hermione looked down at her books. 

_"When was the last time they bought you a gift of thanks for copying off of your papers . . . "_ Draco had said. 

"So what do you say, hm? How's about this collaborated exploration of the benefits of mutual learning?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

Blaise grinned. He didn't bother to answer because he knew that she understood him perfectly. 

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not. Except that I was going to use the Gryffindor dormitories—" 

"Well that does pose as quite an obstacle. I can't just stroll in there like I'm one of you, can I?" 

"One of me?" Hermione interrupted sharply. "What do you mean, 'one of me?'" 

Blaise seemed bewildered. "Er, one of you _Gryffindors_. Did—did I say something wrong?" 

Hermione paused, biting down on her bottom lip and shook her head. 

_My God, I hate Draco Malfoy for implanting such mean and suspicious thoughts into my head. I shall never forgive him if this study goes awry._

All the while, despite his confused and innocent inquiry, Blaise nodded to himself in his mind. _Ah, so he did say some things to her. The bastard. How do you like feeling envy, my friend?_ Of course, Blaise considered Hermione as Draco's own domain to conquer, yet it made him feel a bit giddy to see that she was so much more attracted to his genial nature than what most women usually preferred: enigmatic, sensual, dangerous, and passionate. This only increased his respect for Hermione more. She was her own woman, not like little air-heads like Pansy who so often dreamed of taking Draco and those qualities for herself. He rather felt sorry for Pansy. Draco Malfoy did not allow himself to be taken to anyone, especially a woman. 

"The library," she said suddenly. "The library would be a good place. I was there recently. Saw some books on metaphysics. Didn't really go through them extensively myself, however." 

And that was that. They left in a comfortable yet pondering silence. 

Hermione kept her thoughtful gaze on the ground. 

Blaise, also, was in deep thought. It was of the girl next to him. He risked a quick peek at her, found her face seemingly puzzled, and almost felt as ardent being next to her as a man who stared down at a lover. With a slight smile, he shifted the position of his feet a bit closer to her, and inch by inch, he had himself get nearer and nearer to Hermione. 

She noticed this. Hermione transferred her gaze shyly up towards his and for a few precious moments, she stared deeply into his eyes. Something in them made her happy for she smiled. Then Hermione looked away in front of her. 

Something like triumph filled his throat and with a slight sneer, he thought: _Just try and best me this time, Malfoy._

**-x-x-**

Pansy had been crying uncontrollably on her bed. All she could think of was how much she wished to loathe and condemn Draco. It was all that comforted her. Then after a few minutes, all that seemed to comfort her evolved into thoughts of his smile and of the precious time they spent together. 

All she wished was for him to come storming in, caress her, and kiss her tears away. But it crushed her to know that he would never do that. He would never be so kind, or gentle, or so _caring_ because he was Draco Malfoy. He would _never_ be that way with any woman—he would never give his cold, frozen heart to anyone. 

Just then, as she lost herself in a deeper pit of sorrow, the door to her dormitory opened. At first, Pansy thought it was one of her school mates and quickly tried to rub away the smudges of her mascara, but then realized that those footsteps were too heavy, too masculine to be anyone other than him. 

She looked up to find Draco Malfoy, staring down at her almost contemptuously but with a vestige of what seemed like sympathy and apology. 

Her tears started to flow once more, just seeing him there, tall, strong, and just like Draco. The fact that he would probably never love her as she did him hit her with the force of running into a brick wall. 

"Dry your tears, Pansy." 

Her voice shook. "N-no, you mean bastard. You terrible, cold-hearted _B-BASTARD_!" 

Draco raised both eyebrows lazily and started to make his way towards her. "Now don't be angry with me Pansy." His voice dripped honey. "It was just a slip-up. Just one in . . . how many years have we known each other? Six? Seven? Longer." 

Pansy sat up on her bed, hugging a pillow to her breast. Draco continued his slow stride towards her. 

"You hit me, Draco," she started quietly, her eyes finally dry with an enormous amount of self-restrain. 

"It was an accident, Pansy," he said, sitting on the edge of her bed now, opening his arms slightly. "Purely accidental. You know me better than that—I would never hit a woman on purpose." 

Pansy drew closer to him, utterly confused. Her tears were threatening to start flowing once more just hearing his voice saying those things to her. He was trying to make his amends! 

Slowly, she attempted a smile and carefully wove her way into his arms and pressed her cheek against his chest. His arms wrapped loosely around her, as if she were but a child, but she did not care, as long as she was with her Draco Malfoy. 

"This won't leave the room, Draco," she promised eagerly. This caused him to only tighten his grip around her. She sighed with pleasure. "This will be between us, love. You would never hit me like that again, I know. I love you so much, Draco, so much that you wouldn't imagine. Please say that you too will share that sort of emotion . . . not now, perhaps, but in the future?" 

Draco did not answer. Pansy clutched at his crisp white shirt in desperation. "Draco?" 

"I cannot tell the future, Pansy. Should I ever love you . . . perhaps, perhaps not." 

This response left her both satisfied and unsatisfied. She relinquished her hold on his shirt and ran her long fingers down the trail of the buttons that kept his shirt fastened. One by one, driven only by her passion, she began to slowly unbutton them, praying that he would not stop her. 

He didn't. 

When Draco tossed his cloak to the other side of the bed and shrugged off the shirt, Pansy stared at him lovingly, so lovingly. Then she lowered her gaze to his naked chest, pressing her hands against his skin, cherishing the warmth of his muscles against her palms. Gingerly, she placed her lips on his collar bone, kissing each spot as tenderly as she could. 

Then, with a swift hand, Draco placed his fingers on her chin and turned her eyes up towards his. Pansy felt her stomach growing warm as she stared into his intense eyes, knowing what they were to do. Closing her eyes, she kissed him on his cold lips which were first unresponsive then heatened. She looped her arm around Draco's neck to pull him in closer desperately, and placed her free hand on his manhood, already feeling him bulge. They fell together onto the bed, Draco's hands clutching her head, his fingers entwined with her thin strands of blond hair. It seemed that nothing would stop them. 

**X**

Draco kissed her more fiercely than he had intended to. A sudden burst of passion erupted within him, and with that damned hand of hers there, warming him, arousing him . . . 

He tried to keep his mind off of it. He knew that pleasure was what she, this thirsty girl underneath him, wanted and knew that was the only way she would keep her mouth shut. 

However, under different circumstances, he would have let himself loose and enjoy what she was giving him so readily. Yet his mind felt heavy of another matters. He hadn't broken only one heart today but two. And that latter heart was the heart that he felt the urge to remedy, to set the pieces together again. 

Draco's hands moved like a robot's to unbutton her blouse from past experience. His mind, however, only envisioned her, the Head Girl with her head held up so proudly, so damned loftily. 

Then in an instant, he lost all of his heated craving. His lips and manhood began to grow lax in one strike. Draco pulled himself off of her, licked his lips, then walked over glumly to retrieve his shirt. 

Immediately, Pansy sat up, her shirt unbuttoned and with a look of utter despair and confusing etched all over her face. "Draco. What—" 

"This isn't right, Pansy. I can't make love to you now. Understand me." 

Her eyes narrowed. "Damn you, Draco Malfoy! Understand you? I can never understand you! Why are you leaving me like this?" 

He neglected to answer but by the look of disgust starting to darken her features, he had a nasty feeling that she knew what he was intending to do. 

"Oh," she started, her voice icy. "It's _her_, isn't it? Granger, the Head Girl, the swine, the mudblood." 

"What are you talking about, Pansy?" he asked, weary of her in general. 

She stood up, buttoning up her shirt all the while. "Her. You're going to her! The _mudblood_! To apologize? To hold? To kiss? To _love_?" 

"You're being ridiculous." 

"No! No! You are! You really are fond of her, aren't you, Draco? But that is so . . . so unnatural, so unholy! How could you even bear to be in the same room with her? She radiates nothing but filth! How?" 

Draco scowled at her, making sure to keep his hand in check. 

"You are a traitor, Draco, a traitor to a cause which you held for seventeen years, a cause that you've carried ever since you were born! For god's sake, you are to receive your death eater inauguration in July!" 

He glared at her. "Be quiet." 

Pansy glared back. Her fists trembled. "No." 

She grabbed his cloak from the other edge of the bed and threw it to the ground. Then, she stepped on it harshly. 

Draco raised an enraged eyebrow. A sense of revulsion for her began to rise. 

"You and your pitiful lies," she snarled then stomped out of the room. 

Draco stood there, still scowling, feeling an anger that had risen just a few minutes ago when he had slapped the bitch. He whipped around and punched the wall beside him. 

_How could she, that whore, that insignificant little . . ._ His mind raged uncontrollably. Rage bubbled to his throat. She had _never_ been that rebellious, that contumacious before. 

He glowered at the wall. It served him right to try to seduce her to silence. Granger would have never acted like her. Granger would never be so unclean like Pansy no matter how low-born she was. 

Thinking of her made him only angrier—after all, it was partially due to her existence that this had to happen to him. And he felt as if he would never forgive her for that. On the other hand, he desired her company, the mere presence of her near him when they were alone, quietly drudging because of some menial task set upon them. 

After this episode, Draco felt the longing for her more acutely. He was convinced no matter how much he loved someone, he would never have to resort to making love or giving kisses to keep the "loved" one quiet. 

Draco bent down to pick up his cloak, thinking more about Hermione Granger. Pansy said that he was becoming fond of her. Was he now? Of course she occupied his thoughts a bit more these days than she used to, but that didn't mean that he was growing to like this woman. No, it merely proved that the time they spent together was causing him to become more aware of her presence, of her personality, and of her infectious, happy, bright charm. 

Just as Draco grabbed his cloak, he spotted something under Pansy's bed. He paused, pushing her chest aside, and narrowed his eyes. It was a stack of green books. They seemed strangely familiar. 

He took one from the stack and perused through it. The language was not recognizable at all. Then he remembered what this was. These were the books that he and Hermione had stacked in the library during their first detention. 

Draco's mind drifted towards Hermione again. She came to mind in always the wrong times. At times, he wondered truly if he was growing fond of her. He clutched the book tightly for a few minutes, then, his heart resolute on finding her, Draco sighed. Perhaps he would know if he had taken a liking to the lady if he spoke with her. 

Right after he deposited the book into his room trunk, Draco went over the things that he would say to her. Not to apologize—bother, he would smother himself with a pillow before he apologized to any muggle-born—but to soothe her . . . quiet her. He wondered why he was going bothering to speak to her at all about this. After all, she had made him angry. 

She deserved what he had said to the fullest extent, and besides, everything he said was true, not made up. 

He made his way out and passed the dungeons near the Slytherin dormitory entrance. What worried him more was Pansy and her mouth. The girl could spread a rumor horrible enough to silence even the proudest Slytherin. Would she tell the others about his . . . dilemma with the Gryffindor Head Girl? 

Draco scowled at the thought. He would have to set her straight somehow, make it seem as this was all a mistake and that she had been jumping to conclusions. 

Then he wondered just where Hermione was, Pansy flitting from his mind like an extinguished candle flame. And then he wondered just what he would say. She would allow him to speak with her, wouldn't she? And if not, he'd simply force her to speak with him. 

He made a sharp turn and found the library doors. If Hermione wasn't here, then she'd be in the dormitory. He simply couldn't go in there, even if he wanted to. 

Taking in a deep breath, he stepped in. At first the brightness of the windows blinded him. The Slytherin dormitories had their curtains drawn and obviously the dungeon area was not the best possible place for light. 

He browsed through the shelves of books that greeted him, gazing lazily at the titles and the covers. Madame Pince looked up disapprovingly from the desk she sat behind. Draco grabbed a book from the shelves and smiled disarmingly in her direction. In response, she shook her head and clucked her tongue with a scowl. 

Draco made his way fluidly between the shelves noiselessly like a snake, hoping to find Hermione and hoping that when he did find her, he would know what to say. 

Instead, only a few shelves from the circle of desks where students came to study, he heard a chiming laughter. Draco looked up. He recognized that laugh. It was Hermione. 

He made his way through the shelves, carefully weaving his way through the library-users, making sure that he did not seem to eager to speak with her. When he was just about to emerge from the shadowy collection of texts, what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. 

They sat together by the window with their backs turned to him. And he, the dirty death eater, leaned over with his lips near her ears, whispering something. Then she laughed once more, her brown hair now a brilliant shade of glimmering auburn against the golden sunlight that poured in through the glass. 

She reached out her hand, Hermione did, to brush her fingers against Blaise's cheek, as if flicking away a stray crumb. His lips curved in an indulging smile, accompanied with eyes that seemed to glitter with hunger. Ravenous hunger for her. Or something that Blaise wanted from her, either physically or emotionally. Why else would a death eater gain a fondness for her, a muggle-born part of the Gryffindor house, constant companion of Harry Potter? 

Draco literally felt sick to his stomach, seeing Blaise's gaze at her so adoringly, so reverently, so thirstily. 

All thoughts of justification flew from his mind. He spun around on his heel and setting the book back onto the first shelf he found empty, Draco made his way through the library doors and out of the accursed place. There was twenty minutes of his free period left, and then after two more periods, he would have to face _her_ in Filch's dungeons below. 

He stumbled his way into his dormitory and flung himself onto his soft mattress. Draco still felt sick, as if he had swallowed a box of needles and Novocain. They poked through his flesh but he could not feel them, only keeping the dreadful knowledge that those sharp needles were there to torment him. When he closed his eyes, he saw the rich strands of her hair, the image defiled by Blaise, the dark-haired rogue who had made it his life's duty to taunt and gall Draco as much as he could. Only because of this stupid imprint on his shoulder blade. 

Draco could see no other reason why Blaise would suddenly gain an attraction to Hermione. No reason why he would even bother to be with Hermione unless he really did like her. 

Whatever the reason was, Draco could not help thinking to himself, as he stared up blankly at the ceiling, this one cryptic line that his mind ran off. 

"I was too late . . ." 

* * *

**End Notes**: I hope you enjoyed this uber-long chapter! Review please! 


	11. Their First Kiss: Motives

**Author's Note**: The first installment of _the_ kiss. Enjoy!

* * *

**The Passion of Hate and Love**  
Chapter 11: Their First Kiss - Motives  
By Callisto Callispi

Draco passed his afternoon in a stupor. He managed to get through his classes despite his straining fatigue. He was irritable for the whole day, and his irritation escalated into anger as soon as his professor made the announcement to assign a research project for his NEWT class in Identification of Hexes and Curses.

"Mr. Malfoy and...Mr. Zabini. Your project will cover the symptoms and the effects of the so-called 'Gregarious Curses' and the ten dark wizards who have made use of them."

Draco looked up. "Zabini?"

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, Blaise Zabini. Have you misheard me?"

"No."

"Then I don't see the problem. Narsus and Xavier, you will cover..."

Draco scowled and shot a glare towards Blaise. The smug bastard grinned slightly, staring back at him. As soon as class ended, Draco gathered his books, clenching his teeth so as not to yell at someone. Merlin, Blaise Zabini? Could fate conjure more irony?

"Malfoy, hold your knickers for a minute there."

Draco ignored him and continued walking. Blaise, however, caught up with him and demanded in a puff of breath, "What is wrong with you today? You didn't talk in class, you scowled at me for the whole period, then you rush out like this."

"What the hell do you want, Zabini?"

"To discuss the mechanics of our project, that's what."

Draco stopped abruptly. He shouldn't display his rage in front of Blaise. What was he mad for, anyway? Because of that muggle-born? Because he saw him whisper in her ear?

"I can't," Draco said in a much calmer voice. "I have detention."

Blaise seemed puzzled by this revelation at first, but then, he smirked. "Oh, that quidditch accident, eh? With the Head Girl."

Draco made his way to the Slytherin dungeons with Blaise trailing behind him. The common room was empty. Blaise muttered a small spell to light the fire and collapsed onto the couch. He stared up at Draco, who tossed his books onto a nearby table.

"You must be the luckiest bastard in this whole school," Blaise murmured.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, combing his ruffled hair back with his hands, staring into the mirror.

"Mate, are you blind? You get to spend the whole night with the Head Girl."

Draco's hands froze in his hair. Then he recovered his composure and asked coldly, "What prize is there in that?"

"She's a pretty girl, you know. Cute, innocent, you know, one of those types. And she has brains. I would have shagged her senseless already if I had been that close to her for such a quantity of time," Blaise said with a smirk.

The rage that Draco had painfully suppressed within him began to bubble. "You are a disgusting fuck, you know that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Blaise answered smoothly, getting up. "I truthfully wouldn't mind her body next to mine after a good shag. Who cares if she is muggle-born. She's still a woman, isn't she, and a looker. Besides, think of it this way: she's most likely a virgin, unlike a majority of the other girls in this school. A whole new domain to conquer, wouldn't you say?"

Draco almost punched him. Something that he had said about Hermione... The rage began to bubble up to his throat. "Keep your hands off her," he snarled before he could have a chance to stop himself.

Blaise raised an amused eyebrow at that. "Do I hear a note of envy? You want her as well, don't you. Well, I can't blame you, except that she is a mudblood, after all. Probably a bit low for your tastes, right?"

Draco barked out a harsh laugh. "Want her? She repulses me! The mudblood isn't fit for me, just as you said. And as a fellow death eater, I though that you would have higher standards."

Blaise smiled. "I'm am not a death eater yet. I haven't taken the formal oath, and I don't think I will until I get her." Blaise spun around and dramatically collapsed back onto the couch. He combed his dark hair back with an elegant gesture of his hand and closed his eyes. "Merlin, you do not know how much I want her."

"She will never want you."

Blaise opened his eyes and stared up at Draco, his dark eyes losing the glimmer of humor in them. The smile remained, yet it seemed so much frostier. "And why wouldn't she want me? I'm everything that she wants. Emotional, caring, warm, sympathetic... Qualities that you totally lack, I'm afraid."

"Well, we shall see, won't we Zabini? Tell me as soon as you take her," Draco said, whipping around and walking out the door. "That is, _if_ you ever do." Then he slammed the door, leaving a smirking Blaise in the common room.

"Cocky bastard," Blaise muttered incredulously under his breath. "He thinks that he can control which woman I can have. Such arrogance is amazing, really." But Blaise, despite his smile, was very, very angry. His fists shook, and Blaise just barely forced himself to sit still on that couch and not punch something. Blaise would enjoy knocking that overly proud Slytherin down a peg or two. Especially if it involved Hermione Granger.

In reality, getting along with Hermione was not at all bad. Memories of their rendezvous at the library thickened in his mind. She looked charming, actually, sitting there with a pen in hand and her eyes trained upon the paper. He especially liked the way she bit her lip when a question stumped her.

He almost kissed those same lips in the library today. She spoke about some metaphysics nonsense. Her skin glowed like gold against the beams of sunlight that afternoon. Her hair glimmered, and he noticed the first button of her Oxford blouse undone. She smiled at him radiantly and laughed at something that he had said (he did not remember). Blaise wanted then to touch her flesh, and to feel her warmth and smoothness. Her lips intoxicated his view, however. Pink, soft, and full. He could hardly restrain his temptation. How was she not aware of her sexuality?

Blaise stood up and yawned. Yes, she was pretty at certain moments. But she was very desirable today. He did not know why, but thoughts of her filled his mind. Yet the infinitely more appealing thought was the face of Draco Malfoy in his defeat.

Blaise grinned darkly, and he could not resist saying, "Watch your back Malfoy."

**-x-x-**

Filch had left a note for them at his door.

_Stack the books in the library by hand. The books are all magic-proof with a counter-spell. Don't even attempt to enchant them unless you want them to blow up and awaken the whole school. _

_A. Filch_

Hermione wasn't there. He made his way down to the library, struggling to think of what he would say to her. From what he could gather, after their earlier spat in the corridors, Hermione found refuge in Blaise, and the stupid bastard had taken on the responsibility to console her. It did not help that Blaise had inferred that Hermione was very close to being taken by him. Draco could not let that happen.

He opened the library doors, and Hermione's small formed struggling to pick up a stack of books greeted him. She struggled under the weight, and quickly, automatically, he helped her pick them up and put them down near one of the book stacks.

She stared up at him in silence for a few seconds, then looked away. "Thank you," she said in a soft voice.

Draco frowned slightly. Obviously, she was still hurt by the episode earlier on in the day. He arrived at a crossroads. What should he say? Should he apologize?

"Just get the books," he found himself muttering and turned around.

**X**

Of course, she couldn't expect anything more out of him. Was she truly expecting an apology?

_My God, Hermione, how long have you known this cocky jerk? For a very long time. You should know that he would never apologize to anyone, much less me._

Hermione glowered at his back and whipped around. Blaise was right about him. About everything.

"_He's the coldest bastard I know," _he replied when she inquired about Draco. "_If I didn't know better, I'd say that he wasn't human. He's too cold, without a shred of emotion. When he does something, it's most-likely motivated by self-gain."_

Hermione continued to drudge in the library, picking up books, checking their numbers, and resettling them in their right places. She was glad that the library was such a big place. She and Draco could work together without having to face each other.

But no matter how hard she tried to keep her mind a blank, she wished that Draco would say something to her about this afternoon. After all, anyone would have at least apologized. In his case, she had expected some sort of a short burst of comforting words. Not exactly an apology but...something. Lost in her thoughts, she accidentally dropped the book that she held and almost threw the others she held in her arms down in frustration.

Just how could he call her worthless? Just how could he get her so depressed? How could she allow him to exploit every one of her weaknesses so easily? She was Hermione Granger, and Hermione Granger prided herself on her ability to withstand all criticism, no matter how hurtful, and to emerge stronger afterward. She failed in the very thing that she prided herself in. Still, her mind turned what Draco said to her back and forth, wondering how he could say such things. She did not feel any stronger, mentally nor emotionally. She had never been so upset by anyone's words before, especially his.

"You're quiet tonight," she heard him say from across the room.

Hermione closed her eyes. His voice struck her unexpectedly like a blow to her gut. "I know."

She bent down to pick up her books. She stopped, frozen in her place, when she felt his warm hand gripping her shoulder. "Don't touch me like that," she whispered.

Draco did not immediately remove his hand, but remove it he did. She carried the books to the shelves with the appropriate call numbers and stacked them accordingly. He spoke to her when she had finished.

"Are you upset with me?"

Hermione turned to face him, feeling her heart thump twice as hard. Was it his eyes that attracted her to him like this? What magnetic forced pulled her to him? He stared down at her, expressionless, but Hermione knew by now that when he was as expressionless as he was now, he had to be thinking deeply of something.

"Yes, I am upset with you," she managed to get out.

"Why?"

She cast her gaze downwards. Thinking of the episode earlier hurt her still, yet it wasn't the reason that she refused to face him. It was because she did not want to stare into his eyes... She was afraid of what she might reveal.

"Why are you upset with me, Granger?"

His voice grew louder, much louder. When she didn't answer him, he grabbed her chin and harshly tilted her head upwards so she was once again in direct eye contact with him. Hermione almost gasped. His light gray eyes were dark with...was it anger? Passion?

"Damn it, Granger, answer me!" he yelled.

Hermione wrenched herself away from his grasp. He seemed surprised, also, by his outburst. He stared wide-eyed at her, his breaths rapid, as were hers. He stared at her, his hands nearly trembling.

"Malfoy, you're frightening me," she said finally, watching the shadows play on the smooth skin of his stoic face. "You upset me for many reasons, Malfoy, but you're frightening me right now."

Again, Draco moved towards her, and this time, he grabbed both of her shoulders and held her against the wall. Hermione gasped and tried to move away, protesting without a voice, insisting that he let her go. Draco, however, kept her pinned against his chest easily. His eyes burned into hers, his legs pressing against hers to limit movement. Hermione breathed in sharply, feeling a slight stirring in the depths of her stomach that made her a bit weak in the knees.

"Why do I frighten you?" he asked, his voice raspy. His breath was hot against her cheek. Hermione closed her eyes and shivered, her heart thumping. She gasped as he moved in closer and asked her that same question, his hot lips brushing against the skin of her neck. Hermione tried to move away again but cried out as Draco gripped her wrists harder.

"Malfoy," she cried out softly. "Please, let me go. You're hurting me..."

Draco didn't seem to hear her at first. But his body trembled, and mercifully, his grip loosened. Hermione breathed out and opened her eyes to face him and gasped at the sight of him. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Hermione's eyes widened, watching his cheeks flush. His hands got hotter, as if they cooked on a stove. He was in pain -- she could tell by the deep scowl lines between his eyebrows and circling his mouth. He held her so tightly out of pain, not anger. His hot breath grazed her cheek as he placed his flaming, moist face next to hers on the wall. His body crushed her underneath him.

"Malfoy..." she gasped. "My God, what is wrong with you? Are you ill?"

"Granger... You're so cool," he mumbled, digging his face into her blouse.

She felt him shake, and, spontaneously, Hermione wrapped her arms around his body to comfort him. "Why are you trembling?" she whispered. "Are you in pain?"

"Great pain," he whispered in her hair, pushing her more harshly against the wall. This time, Hermione did not push him away. "God, it hurts..."

Without warning, she felt his arms wrap around her body. It was as if someone caged her to the wall. So unexpected were his movements. His arms, so hard with tense muscles, trapped her body within them. Hermione took in a sharp breath. Draco Malfoy, hater of all muggle-borns, especially her, a Gryffindor muggle-born, was embracing her. Actually _embracing_ her! Surely he had to be delirious! Why else would he do such a thing?

They stood there in an embrace for a few minutes. Despite this uncomfortable, foreign position, Hermione felt her hands hesitantly massage the muscles of his back, slowly, soothing, gingerly. His breathing, raspy and harsh against her ear, deafened her to everything else except him. For a moment, the young man trapping her against him wasn't Draco Malfoy...but someone whom she felt something like care for.

With increasing ease, Hermione rubbed his back to comfort him, to soothe him. She did not know what pain he suffered from, but it had to be great for him to be in such a position. Her hands gently rubbed against his shoulder blades, first the right one, then the left. As soon as her hand ran over the left shoulder blade, Draco breathed in sharply and arched his back slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said immediately, thinking that she had accidentally touched on a sore spot of his wound from the previous night.

For a few minutes, Draco leaned against her as she offered comfort for him. She breathed in. He smelled so fresh and masculine, a natural cologne that made her dizzy with the faintest wind of desire. She felt so warm in his embrace. Her rigid form soon melted into his, her arms fitting perfectly in the crevices of his spine and shoulders, her head gently nuzzling his. For a moment, heaven forgive her, she felt this position as natural...as something that was meant to be. But if only Draco were not Draco but someone else... Someone she could possibly embrace without feeling that stab of discomfort and shame.

Soon, his breathing became less raspy and more calm. Hermione knew, with immense relief accompanying this knowledge, that his pain subsided. Poor man. A Malfoy or not, she felt that no one should suffer through that sort of pain.

His arms began to grow lax, as did Hermione's. The arms that had embraced her upper body so tightly gently slid down to her waist. His hands rested lightly upon her hips. Draco moved back, blinking to rid himself of the haziness that clouded his eyes, and stared down at her. A mix of emotions—including that of confusion, tenderness, regret, and anxiety—surged through her body.

They stared at each other for a few moments. When Draco did not say anything, Hermione smiled gently, feeling the corners of her lips shaking at the corners, and looked away from his eyes. She stared at his cheeks and lips, unable to bear his stare any longer. She gently ran her fingers down his face, wiping away the beads of sweat that framed his eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked softly.

He neglected to answer for a few minutes. His grip on her hips got tighter, firmer, as if she were to be taken away from him at any given moment.

Hermione felt her heart beating faster, that discomfort tensing her body again. Why was he staring at her like that? For what was he searching her face? His hands on her hips warmed her... The pits of her stomach grew hotter and a burst of wonder and anticipation coursed through her veins. What was he about to do to her?

"I'm all right now..." he finally whispered.

She smiled. "Good. I was worried that..." She trailed off as Draco leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. Then, just as she recovered from the sensation of his lips against her skin, Draco moved abruptly away from her. Cold air hit her body as he parted and headed towards his side of the library.

Hermione, in shock, watched his retreated back. Her hips, once warmed by his hands, now grew uncomfortably cold.

**X**

Draco, as he picked up the books, could not comprehend what he had just done. Had he just embraced the muggle-born? Hell, had he just kissed her?

His mark was to blame. He had resolved to apologize to her, (or say something as close to an apology without having to _really_ apologize) and actually went up to her to do just that. But then, just as he began to speak, the mark on his shoulder started throbbing uncontrollably. It hurt, the pain so strong that it felt as if he were being branded all over again.

He closed his eyes for a few seconds. He had fallen on Hermione for support. He couldn't stand. Then she wrapped her arms tentatively around his waist and moved her hands up to his back, rubbing away the sore spots and relaxing his muscles. Just by that single action, her warmth spread throughout his body -- the comforting warmth that only a woman could offer. And not just any woman. The comfort that a woman could only offer if the man, being affectionate enough for her, would receive it. He recalled how her fingers rubbing his back offered relief, a distraction from the pain. Her fingertips had grazed over his mark. How had her touch subsided his pain? How?

In gratitude, he offered her that kiss. Or so he would have liked to think. If only it were that simple.

He simply did not kiss muggle-borns. He simply did not touch Gryffindors. But he had just embraced her a few minutes ago, and he even ran his hands down her soft body, admiring her gently curving figure. He wanted to scream, but instead, he breathed in her scent, floral like roses and smooth at the same time like vanilla, and forgot all about that sickening odor of burning flesh that drowned his senses during his branding.

Draco stared around him. There were just simply too many books. He could not possibly finish stacking these monstrous volumes by midnight. And he could not possibly have time to spend with...her. He stopped what he was doing, looked up to where she worked, and stared. What was it about that muggle-born who offered him so much comfort in his pain?

He smiled sardonically, rubbing his hand to where he was branded. An unimportant muggle-born of the Gryffindor house had just relieved him of the pain purposely inflicted upon him by Voldemort, heir to Salazar Slytherin and most powerful wizard alive. How ironic this whole night ended up being.

Quickly, he stacked up his books, staring at her for the briefest seconds. Being in the same room as her affected his body in the most strangest ways. He did not feel anything like lust around her. Instead, he felt comfort. And warmth. The feelings that he had rarely ever felt in his home or in bed. It was addicting.

Draco worked diligently from then on, stacking six or seven books at a time after grouping them according to their call numbers. He wanted to be near her, and the price of that was working a bit harder. Half an hour passed when he found that he had finished stacking his books. Hesitantly, slowly, he walked over to where she toiled, her back facing him. She still had so many books around her. She seemed so tired. Draco stopped walking almost five feet behind her. Being so near her caused his heart to flutter. Again, he recalled the softness of her cheek against his lips.

He surprised her as he walked up behind her and started to help her stack the books. It was an act of charity that Draco was wholly unaccustomed with doing. Even she knew that. For a few seconds, she stopped and stared up at him suspiciously, curiously.

"Come on. Do you want to get this done by midnight or no?" he asked gruffly, still unable to face her after that kiss.

"Yes. Thank...you."

He worked tirelessly...as he had never done before. Perhaps he helped her because of his gratitude. He didn't know. Nevertheless, she motivated him. When she stood on her tiptoes and struggled to place something on the top shelf, he gently took the book from her hands and being taller, set it there himself easily. When she tipped under the weight of a heavy volume, he took it into his own hands. He worked, yes, but his full attention was on Hermione and her comfort. What was this he felt? Care? Life never ceased to amaze him.

"Malfoy."

Her soft voice stunned him out of his stupor. He looked up to find her holding a candle. The warm golden glow of the candle flattered her complexion beautifully. Her dark eyes, now a shade lighter so close to the flame, stared into his own.

He settled the last book onto the shelf, and, in an attempt to seem as if nothing had happened, smirked. She noted this with a small smile and set the candle down onto a nearly table.

"What's wrong, Malfoy?"

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"You're wound couldn't have been that bad. I mean, you said that it was closed up, right? And that it wasn't bleeding?"

He laughed at her concern. Those brown eyes of hers searched his so apprehensively, so curiously, so innocently...like a child's.

"What are you laughing at?" she demanded suddenly.

"You," Draco simply replied, walking up to her and tucking a strand of brown hair behind her ear. She seemed stunned by his action; it amused him. "Must you _always_ concern yourself over others, Granger? Your heart is much to soft..."

Her eyes narrowed. Shadows sketched by the candle light flickered and danced across her face. Draco couldn't help thinking at such proximity with her flesh that she was very comely.

"Even when I worry for your sake, you complain!" Then, her eyes softened. Her fingers tentatively found their way up to his wounded shoulder, and she rested them there. "Is your shoulder all right?"

Draco neglected to answer that question. Instead, he countered with one of his own. "Why were you upset with me?"

Hermione blinked, flushed, and then stepped away. Her hand dropped. "Oh. That."

"Yes," Draco said, his eyes searching her face, "_that_. Why are you so reluctant to answer me?"

"We fought. Of course I would be upset."

"I wasn't."

"That's because you're selfish and you only care for yourself," Hermione replied, though her tone lacked its usual bite. Instead, she grinned slightly. Draco noted this with a grin of his own.

"What did I say to upset you so much, though?"

"Why do you care?"

Draco shrugged. "Call it a healthy sense of curiosity."

Hermione shook her head. "It was a fight. It wasn't anything in particular that you said." Hermione lied; still she could not allow herself to open up to Draco. She didn't trust him enough, though the pads of her fingers tingled with the desire to press themselves against his warm skin.

Draco crossed his arms and turned slightly away from her. "It apparently was something. I hear that you have sought out Blaise Zabini for comfort. And received it." His eyes got narrower. He remembered Blaise's earlier comments about Hermione.

"_I truthfully wouldn't mind her body next to mine after a good shag..."_

Was Hermione truly so into Blaise? Or were his comments empty?

"Wait, who told you _that_?"

Draco said nothing. He knew he should have mentioned Blaise's intentions for her...but he didn't say anything. Why? Didn't Hermione deserve to know? Or was he afraid of her response?

"Who told you that Malfoy? Blaise...he just happened to be there. He walked up to me... Then we just studied together at the library."

He almost laughed again. _Just _happened _to be there? Yeah right. That shrewd bastard was more likely _following _you around..._

Hermione then furrowed her brows. "Why do you care about what Blaise Zabini and I do? And don't start with that Death Eater rubbish because I am tired of hearing it, Malfoy."

"Then, I won't say anything."

"You're so impossible!"

Draco restrained a sigh. He felt goose bumps running up his arms. The library was colder that he had previously thought. He shivered and started walking out. He looked over his shoulder towards Hermione. "Are you coming with me, or are you going to stay here for the rest of the night?"

She quickly followed him. Draco stood outside in the dim hallway, and as soon as she got out, he closed the door and locked it. Just as he was about to head for his dormitories, Hermione tugged on his robe sleeve.

"Let me go, Granger. I'm quite tired," he said, his back still turned towards her.

"Not until you tell me why you're so concerned over Blaise and me!"

He rolled his eyes. "Again with that first name basis..."

Draco felt her long fingers twine around his forearm, and she pulled at it harshly in an attempt to turn him around. He obliged easily, and stared down into her chocolate-brown eyes that sparkled with anger. He smirked slightly which seemed to only enrage her further.

"Blaise. You call him Blaise. Why don't you call me 'Draco' from now on, then?" he asked in a silky voice.

"You asked me before why you upset me. I'll tell you now, Malfoy," she sputtered out.

Draco smiled languidly in the warm darkness, gently prying her fingers off his arm.

"Your whole being upsets me, Malfoy," she answered quickly, watching his hand entwine with hers. "Everything that you do, everything that you say upsets me."

"Truly?" he asked softly, keeping his eyes on the hand trying to pull away from him.

"Yes. You're rude, uncouth, cruel..."

He had expected this sort of answer. It sounded so trivial to him, right now, coming from her lips. "I don't think so." He concentrated on getting her hand in his grasp. She had nice hands.

**X**

What was he doing? Hermione rattled off something, anything that would come to mind. She wanted to tell him to stop, but instead, everything else but those words spilled from her lips. His hands worked against hers. She breathed in sharply as he impatiently enfolded her balled fist against in his palms.

"What are you doing to me?" he suddenly asked her.

"What?" she said quickly.

Draco stared into her eyes again and smirked. His other hand traveled up to her shoulder and slid towards her neck. Her chest fell up and down with anxiety as he leaned in closer to her. His breath heated the skin of her neck. Hermione closed her eyes, her fingers entwining with his.

"What spell have you cast on me?" he whispered. "What have you done to me, Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes shot open at the sound of her name. Had he just called her...?

**X**

At that moment, Draco had not wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. It took all of his will power to keep his lips away from the flesh of her neck. He breathed in her scent, reminded of standing in floral garden on a warm autumn day, drunken just by her smell. Her name escaped his lips without his knowing. In that instant, he did not care about her heritage. All he cared was that she offered him comfort when he was in pain. All he knew was that no one had done that. He had allowed no one to do that, but he had allowed her. The most unlikely of candidates.

He stared at her, her eyes narrowed in confusion, her pink lips parted slightly, on the verge of asking more questions. He grazed his fingertips over her cheek. At first, Hermione shuddered, as if his touch repulsed her, then she once again closed her eyes.

Draco pulled her along to a dark corner of the wall, and she followed readily. The hand that held hers loosened and repositioned itself on her waist. His other hand settled itself on the back of her neck and pulled her face closer towards his...until they met.

It was an electrifying moment for him, to feel her lips underneath his own, caressing him, pleasuring him. Draco pulled her small body to his in desperation, hearing her moan underneath him. He felt her hands against his chest, trying feebly to push his body away from hers. Draco smirked, only deepening his kiss. He twined his fingers in her long, brown hair, rubbing her scalp.

Soon, her resistance fell. Her hands that once tried to push him away slid across his stomach and to his waist. Underneath his lips, he heard her whimper slightly. For a few moments, Draco pulled away from her, his breaths raspy.

He heard her gasp, perhaps for air, perhaps for him. Then he tilted his head and, rolling her against the wall, his lips grazed her neck. Slowly did his hands progress down to her hips, tugging at her shirt. Her breaths came in gasps, her protests or urges in suppressed moans. He gently kissed the soft skin of her throat and stared into her eyes. They were clouded with confusion. She was unsure. She questioned his motives.

Draco breathed in and closed his eyes for a few seconds before leaning in.

"Just once more," he whispered.

After the briefest flutter of her lashes, she nodded slowly. Satisfied with that response, Draco's lips met with her hers.

* * *

**End Notes**: How did you like it? I hope the two aren't TOO much out of character. I rather feel really bad for Blaise though. I really like him, and here Hermione is, fooling around with Draco. ;) 


	12. Their First Kiss: Repercussions

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 12: Their First Kiss - Repercussions   
By Callisto Callispi 

**Disclaimers**: Don't own Harry Potter. Never have or will. 

**Author's Note**: Here is the second installment on THE kiss. Things between Hermione and Draco are going to start heating up in future chapters! Woohoo! 

Also, _please_ keep in note that this fiction will make minimal references to the fifth Harry Potter book. Again, **_this fiction will make minimal references to the fifth book_**! See how that is in bold _and_ it's italicized? 

*** ... * thoughts   
### change in view point of the same scene**

_Torn apart by rage and fear   
Hold on to what brought you here   
Don't let it go   
Never let go..._

"Never Let Go" by Josh Groban with Deep Forest 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His kisses were amazing. So amazing, in fact, that Hermione felt as if her mind had been drugged. She could not function her own body for a few seconds. Her hands would keep pulling him closer to her instead of pushing him away. Her lips would respond to him instead of closing off his advances. 

Hermione struggled to regain her senses. He wouldn't stop. If he didn't stop, she wondered how far they would truly go. She was terrified at the thought. 

In an effort to break away when she still could, Hermione moved her lips away from his, rolling her head off to the side. Their kiss was broken. Their connection, however, was not. Immediately, Draco began to run his lips, his soft lips, down her neck, kissing the hollow of her throat. 

Again did a moan escape her. She felt her hands gripped his hair. 

*No. _Stop this! Stop him! THIS ISN'T RIGHT!_* 

"No...Malfoy..." she whispered hoarsely, her eyes still closed. 

She could feel his hands starting to work on the buttons of her blouse, slowly unclasping the top one, then working on the next. 

"Malfoy, please...stop..." she said, opening her eyes, her whisper louder. 

His hands hesitated before completely undoing the button he work on, his lips pausing against her skin. She took this moment to untangle her arms from around his body. 

"We must stop," she said, this time in a louder voice. Her chest pounded. Her breaths came in gasps, as if she had been running. Draco's hands slid down from her blouse. His lips slowly closed, and simply did he breathe in and out. His hot breath tickled her skin. 

Quietly, clumsily, Hermione dislodged herself from him. Draco made no move to stop her. He lifted his eyes and watched her attempt to recollect herself. His hair, usually neat and combed back, was now ruffled. He looked as he did right after he dismounted his broom from a quidditch game. 

Hermione quickly buttoned the top of her blouse back up. She smoothed back her hair and her ruffled shirt. Then, she stared up at Draco, feeling a hot flush flood her face. Her skin still tingled from his lips. Her lips still burned with the desire to feel his upon them. What was she supposed to do? Her mind repulsed this very thought. Her heart, however, desired it. 

Draco still stood there, his body towards the wall, his face turned towards her. He avoided her eyes, and Hermione was glad that he did. She couldn't bear to face him any longer. She couldn't bear to touch him. She was much too mortified...and she was afraid to what touching him again would lead to. 

"That's it, then?" he asked in a low, quiet voice. He raised his eyes to her face. 

Hermione couldn't answer. She did not know the nature of this questions. She couldn't find her voice. 

A few minutes soon after, Draco lowered his eye. Was it in shame? Was it in apology? Did he regret kissing her? Did he regret ever stopping? 

"I was wrong, I suppose," he said once more, then stared at the wall, where, just minutes ago, she had been squirming against Draco's kiss. She felt a rush of shame at the memory. Her knees felt weak. 

"We should have never..." Hermione trailed off as soon as he turned his gaze towards her. She looked away, not wanting to see his tired expression. "This...will never be..." 

"Mentioned to anyone else? Surely." 

Hermione felt a little bit relaxed. She closed her eyes. It was her first kiss. Her first ever. Draco Malfoy had given her her first kiss. She had always imagined the first to be so wonderful, so affectionate. She imagined that she would be left in a happy stupor afterwards. But why was it that she felt so used up? So dry? 

"I should have never—we should have never done that," she whispered, shaking her head. 

She saw, from the corner of her eye, Draco's head snap up. He took a step towards her but faltered as soon as she took a hop backward. 

"You regret kissing me?" he asked her, his voice strangely cold. 

Again, in the pit of her stomach, she felt the desire to run into his arms the moment that she saw his eyes. Only with the strongest will of her mind did she stop herself. He seemed to glare at her, angry for some odd reason. 

"I think you regret kissing me," Hermione said softly. "I know it meant nothing. You don't have to act." 

"You—what?" 

Just then, she felt her throat heat up. Hermione glared. The clock below began to bong loudly. Hermione shook her head. "I know you think that I am one of your whores. Perhaps I was beginning to resemble one, for a moment there. But I stopped myself. I know that meant nothing to you. I know that this was only for your sick little pleasures." 

Draco rushed up to her so quickly that she did not have time to step back. He grabbed her shoulders harshly, almost to the extent of pain. Hermione gasped, trying to wrench herself out of his grasp. 

"How dare you even say that to me? You think that I am so degrading? So—" 

"Yes!" she whispered furiously. "Yes, I do!" 

Draco, his eyes wide, pushed her backward. His eyes burned into her face. Her breath constricted in her. He stared at her as if he were wounded by that remark, as if she had just stabbed him in the stomach with a knife. 

Then, his face hardened. His stare for her, once soft and pondering, reflected nothing but cold anger and disdain. "You're right," he responded, his voice dripping with malice. "You are one-hundred percent right. That really meant _nothing_ to me. You mean nothing to me." 

She felt the corners of her eyes burn. Nevertheless, she nodded, scowling fiercely. "The feeling is mutual." 

He suddenly lifted his hand, and from his finger, he pulled off a ring. He tossed it casually in her direction. Hermione's eyes flickered towards the ring. It was the ring...with his family's crest on it. 

"Because I was unable to keep my earlier promise," he remarked coldly. 

Hermione remembered...just the other night, in front of the infirmary, when he had told her that he would never...made advances on her without her consent. They had a wager...with his ring. He had lost that wager. 

He spared her his glance for a few heart-wrenching seconds. Then he pushed past her. Hermione reeled as soon as his shoulder pushed through hers. She closed her eyes, willing the heat in her stomach to cool. She heard Draco's footsteps echoing through the dark hallway as he made his way through the dungeons. As soon as they completely disappeared and she stood there alone, she allowed her walls to crumble. She grabbed her heart and sank to the floor, staring numbly at the silver crest of the ring staring back at her. 

### 

Of course, he knew that this whole fiasco would not end happily. Both Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy were always too stubborn for their own good. His quiet observations of seven years provided ample examples of their characters. 

The figure shifted silently in the shadows, watching the girl's fists shake. He knew that she was willing herself not to cry. 

He grinned, shadows drenching his features so he simply blended into the dark corridor. What he had planned to be a nightly excavation towards the painting with dragons proved to be much more rewarding. Draco had been angry at her reaction—he wasn't sure if he could say hurt, knowing what cold beings those of the Malfoy line were. If Hermione Granger did succeed in hurting the Slytherin, then he had to applaud her. 

Patiently did the figure wait for Hermione to collect herself. As soon as she grabbed the ring, stood and walked away towards the Gryffindor commons did the figure emerge into the light. He sighed. What passion they held for each other. He was amazed how she broke off from Draco, and how Draco had so easily walked away from her. With his family ring thrown casually onto the floor. 

It was a perfect time to exploit both of them after their current emotional trauma. Perhaps this off-and-on relationship between the two would work to his advantage. 

Quietly, he steadily strolled through numerous, pitch-black corridors, guided by his memory and not his sight. Ever since last May had he been coming through this way. And every time, he knew naught how to penetrate through his target. 

Soon, he approached the painting of the dragons: the one with the two dragons rising up to the heavens with the mob, hateful and irate for some odd reason, pursuing them. The man gently ran his hands down the surface of the canvas. 

It truly was a beautiful painting. 

"Ah...Salazar... What have you left behind? What did you want this painting to show?" 

The man ran his fingers through his hair, pondering the symbolic representation of this painting. In the collection of his journals did he mention his remnants. However, there were many runes and symbols unfamiliar to his and his companions. They were not able to fully decode them. Then, before the complete translation of Salazar's recollections, Dumbledore had stolen them, right from under their noses. 

The dark lord's death eaters did not take to foreign thievery well. 

He stared into the eyes of the dragon: the bigger, more darker one with dark brown eyes and the other, golden one with shockingly blue eyes. Of course, it was obvious that the two represented Salazar and Rowena when he was courting her. It was, as the death eaters believed, just a minor attraction, but he used this painting to be the symbol of the gateway to all of his secrets. 

Just then, he heard footsteps. His eyes narrowed. Dumbledore. Quickly, he fled the area. He hated running away, but currently, he was no match for a full-fledged wizard skilled in the area of charms (his personal weakness) and defense against the dark arts. 

Oh well. He had until the end of the school year to solve the puzzle. He had always been quick at solving puzzles. With that assurance did the figure slowly melt into the shadows in his retreat. 

Unbeknownst to him, the dragons' eyes glimmered. 

**** 

As soon as Draco entered into his dormitory, he muffled his face with his pillow, choking back a roar of anger. Why the _fuck_ had he done that? Why the hell did he do that? As if kissing a mudblood wasn't humiliating enough, she, in the end, had the gall to pull away from him! 

He gripped the covers of his bed. His hands shook, threatening to rip the silk. He stayed in that position for a few minutes, lying face down on his bed. The trembles in his body slowly relaxed. Soon enough, Draco released the covers and slowly lifted himself up. 

He stayed in the darkness for a few seconds, adjusting his features so they would reflect nothing but coldness. It had been hard keeping this face in front of her... Again, at the thought of her, he bit back a growl. His family ring. He had not wanted to give it away, but he never backed away from a deal. Besides, he held no fondness for it. He kept it due to the fact that his father wanted him to. 

*Fuck Lucius. This is more important.* 

Steadily, he pulled himself out of bed, headed towards the bathroom, and took a shower. He rubbed his body vigorously with a good amount of soap, as if to cleanse himself of the nightly activities. 

"It was a mistake. A horrible mistake. It should have never happened," he said to himself as soon as he emerged, draping a towel around himself. 

However, he could not stop himself from swearing rapidly under his breath. He cursed his own stupidity, he cursed her, and he cursed himself. 

To add to his foul mood, just as Draco started donning his sleeping robes, the mark on his back started to throb. He swallowed a moan, set his lips in a determined line, and started to comb his hair as he stared into the bathroom mirror. 

The throbbing worsened. He bit his lip, fearing that he would scream out. The comb dropped from his hands and landed with a clatter onto the floor as he fell forward. His hands caught the edge of the marble sink in time. His arms shakily supported him as he breathed in and out raggedly, wondering what the hell he did to deserve this pain. 

Draco stared at the floor for almost ten minutes, waiting for the pain to subside. It was not until another ten minutes passed that he felt he could pick up the comb again. 

He clenched his teeth. Unwittingly was he again reminded of Hermione. If he closed his eyes, he could remember the lingering scent of vanilla. He could almost feel her soft hands massaging the knots out of his back...easing the burning throb of the mark. 

"Damn you, Voldemort," he snarled quietly. He stared at his reflection in the mirror and smirked. "I am your heir. What mortal lives forever? I shall be in power soon enough. Oh, how the mighty will fall." 

With the comforting thought of seeing Voldemort bound in shackles, Draco walked out into the dark Slytherin commons with the intention of writing a letter to his father about his mark. However, just as he was about to light the fireplace, a voice stopped him. 

"Just came in?" 

The voice startled him. Draco raised his wand, and pointing it in the direction of the voice, though he could hardly see anything in this darkness. 

"Relax. It's just me. Lumos." 

He saw a small light on the tip of a wand. Draco smirked slightly and dropped his wand slowly. "Blaise Zabini." 

"Correct." 

Draco was seriously starting the despise this character. He showed up during the most inconvenient moments. Draco hardly favored Blaise's smug attitude towards him, either. It was as if the bastard knew or had something that he didn't. 

Blaise smirked back. He was in his sleeping robes, lying casually back in the chair, holding an empty wineglass in his other hand. "I thought you'd be sleeping by now." 

Draco rolled his eyes. With a spell he lit the fireplace. Soon enough, a warm orange glow washed over the commons. "What the hell are you doing up, Zabini? You have less of a reason to be up than I do." 

Blaise laughed softly. "Aren't I entitled my share of the fun?" 

"Did you have a shag or something?" 

"You're not entitled to know about my private life." 

Draco snorted and stood. "Hope she was good. I'm going to bed." 

"Oh, Draco, by the way, how was your lady?" 

Draco paused, his hand on the door knob to his room. "What?" 

"I'm talking about Hermione Granger. Win her over yet?" 

"Who the hell said that I wanted to win her over?" 

Draco glimpsed over his shoulder to find Blaise leaning back in his chair with a small grin on his face. "I had assumed that you did." 

Draco clenched his teeth. "You assumed wrong." 

"Sure. Remember, though. What you don't claim, I will take." 

"Whatever." 

"And I'm sure," said Blaise quietly, getting up, "that out lord's heir will surely not involve himself with filthy, low-born _mudbloods_. They are, after all, those whom we are trying to rid the world of." 

Draco narrowed his eyes. He turned around to face a solemn Blaise. "So you do know." 

"Of course. The Zabinis weren't stationed in Rome and Madrid for all of these years for nothing." 

"How many others know?" 

"Very few. Those who attended the ceremony, some of the Roman factions, and, of course, me. Don't make enemies with me, Draco. My family has direct links with Lord Voldemort. Don't forget that we are the ones who had connections with the Slytherin bloodline for almost a millennia." 

Draco felt an angry smirk crawl up his lips. "So you are my caretaker?" 

Blaise shrugged. He had a smug look about him that made Draco even more frustrated. "More or less. After all, the Zabinis have looked after those of Salazar Slytherin's bloodline, nurturing them, protecting them. You are a part of his line now, are you not, even if not by birth?" 

Draco turned around. "Do what you want. Just don't get in my way." 

Just as Draco was about to slam the door in the bastard's face, Blaise stuck his foot next to the threshold. He grabbed Draco by the collar, slamming him into the wall. Draco was so stunned that he hadn't been able to deflect this move. 

He grit his teeth, and just as he was about to punch Blaise away, Blaise dug his left shoulder blade into the wall, successfully sending sharp jolts of pain through his body, paralyzing his muscles. 

"You stupid bastard," Blaise hissed, digging his back more harshly against the wall. "Do you believe that you can deflect me so easily?" 

Draco laughed humorlessly, despite this new pain. Blaise, seemingly surprised by this reaction, loosened his grip. Draco took that opportunity to wrench himself away. He quickly socked Blaise on the side of his jaw. Though he couldn't get a full blow for Blaise had moved away from his fist, Draco noted with satisfaction that he had staggered back. 

Blaise and Draco remained silent for a few seconds, both breathing heavily. Draco's chest expanded and contracted as he felt rage bubbling his blood. Blaise glared back up at him, rubbing his jaw. He licked the droplet of blood oozing out from the corner of his lips. 

"Remember that you have no friends here, Draco," Blaise spat out. "There are those, even in the Slytherin house, whose fondest wish is to deliver your sorry corpse to our lord in hopes that they will become the new heir." 

"I need no friends. If you're trying to frighten me into submission, I'll let you know that your attempt is pathetic." 

This time, Blaise laughed a laugh completely devoid of humor. The flickering flames cast moving shadows across the young man's tan features. He seemed so much like a demon, then. 

"Oh, you need all the friends you can get. Just because you are the lord's heir does not guarantee safety. You should know that." 

"And you should know by now that I can take care of myself." 

Blaise stared up at him, amused. 

"Besides, I have a big, strong member of the Zabini family here to protect me. Why would I _ever_ need friends?" Draco bit out with a sardonic smile. 

"We'll see. Good night, Draco." 

Draco forced a polite smile of his face. Just as he was about to close the door, Blaise stopped him once more. 

"By the way, your father is coming here to Hogwarts on the seventh. Just to let you know...in case your affections for a certain _mudblood_ get out of hand." 

He closed the door, and climbing into bed, he couldn't wonder whether Blaise had seen Hermione and him by the library... 

He turned in his bed, pulling the covers up to his chest. 

*No. That's impossible. I didn't feel a presence other than Hermione and myself. I have had training...with _them_ to ensure that those with invisibility cloaks could never pass me.* 

He sighed and closed his eyes. Only those with exceptional skill in the dark arts, those surpassing him, would be able to slip past him. Perhaps Blaise was jumping to conclusions of Hermione and him... Well, it was all right, because other than tonight, he would offer no proof to solidify Blaise's claims. It wasn't as if he would ever kiss the likes of _her_ again. 

Draco smirked slightly. He had been planning to write a correspondence to his father regarding the mark. However, seeing as he would be arriving at Hogwarts in a few days, it truly seemed unnecessary. He just had to hope that Lucius wouldn't notice it gone. And if he did, then he'd just lie, saying that he was having it polished or something. 

With those thoughts in mind, Draco fell asleep. But it was a restless sleep, plagued by visions of Hermione...and a woman named Nícola de Lonclé-Navarra.   


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
**End Notes**: Wow. Two short chapters. Shoot me now. I never thought that would happen. Now, it seems that I have been heartily neglecting to entwine Salazar and Rowena and the Red Widow in this fiction. Be assured that those characters will make an entrance in the next or the chapter after the next chapter! ^_^ (If that made any sense at all!) 

By the way, what did you think of this chapter? Did you like it? I feel as if this sort of opens up a few more doors to certain paths this fiction can take! ^____^ Sorry about Hermione's reaction. I just can't have her fall so suddenly head-over-heels for Draco. ;_; Hope you weren't too disappointed. 

Also, I made a few minor adjustments in the previous chapters. I switched around Rowena and Salazar's heritage to fit in more with the story line. I hope it won't make TOO much of a difference! 


	13. Potpourri

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 13: Potpourri   
By Callisto Callispi 

**Disclaimers**: Don't own Harry Potter. Never have or will. 

**Author's Note**: I actually updated within two weeks! WHOA! What a dramatic shift of events! Lol. This is going to be a short chapter, though...focusing on Draco's dream and developments in the story other than Draco and Hermione. There might be a dash of Hermione and Draco, though. ^_^ And you get a snippet of Rowena and Salazar's story. 

**For clarity regarding the text**: Please note that I have designated Salazar and Rowena's time around the year 1066. It is during the feudal times in Western Europe, and might I warn you that Western Europe was quite a mess around then. It's also the time of William the Conqueror when he established his rule in the British Isles, thus basically establishing, more or less, England. Though I am fairly confident on historical facts I figures, I apologize in advance for historical inaccuracies. 

*** ... * thoughts   
### change in view point of the same scene**

_Love takes off masks   
that we fear we cannot live without   
and know we cannot live within._

"The Fire Next Time" by James Baldwin 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

_ He walked through the stone passageway, the heels of his boots clacking discordantly. He reached an arching passageway and breathed in deeply. The moment of truth. He had to face her, his once-betrothed. _

He entered into a chamber constructed entirely of white and gray stones. It was a lady's chamber, one out of three in this vast castle. Certain plants and rugs decorated the chamber. It was nothing too fancy—he was hardly an artistic man. That, he would leave to Rowena. 

However, his pounding heart seemed to land in his stomach with a thud when he saw her, Nícola, seated near a window. The dusky light streaming in through the open window beautifully accentuated her Iberian and Mediterranean features. She had high cheek bones, a prominent Roman nose, and large eyes of penetrating depth. 

He felt a twinge in his stomach as he spotted a small tear roll down her cheek. She maintained her stare out the window, but he knew that she acknowledged his presence. 

"Hello, Nícola," he said quietly. 

She still did not look at him. She merely sat there, her back straight, her chin tilted upwards. "Hello, Salazar." 

"You've heard, have you?" 

She glanced at him. Her eyes brimmed with tears. "How could you, Salazar?" 

"I'm sorry." 

"You're not. I see it in your eyes." 

He could not say anything. 

"For two years I have allowed this to go on. For two years did I turn a blind eye towards your fascination with that Capetain wench. Now, you're saying that you are fleeing to the Western Isles with her?" 

He breathed in deeply and covered his face with his hands. 

Nícola's voice rose in pitch. "You are willing to leave Castile for her? You're willing to leave to surround yourself with those Saxon and Norman barbarians? With that Capetain whore?" 

Salazar stared at her. "She is not a whore." 

"She has Saxon blood. It might as well makes her one." 

"Do not ever call her that again, Nícola." 

"You can't_ leave, Salazar! What of the Order? You're father was the head of it. And you're willing to give everything up, the rituals, the tradition, to be with her? Does she possess the Gifts, as we do?" _

"She does." 

"She has the blood of mud," Nícola snarled, her hands curling into fists. "She is the child of those Catholics! The same people who name us as the filthy pagans! As witches! As the servants of the Devil!" 

"I will warn you once more, Nícola de Lonclé-Navarra, to not call Laure that." 

Nícola at last stood. She shook her head, her long black tresses falling from her bun. "You are not to leave, Salazar." 

He felt the heat rise in him. "And you are to stop me?" 

She came up to him, and without the slightest bit of hesitation, she got on her tip-toes and kissed Salazar on his lips. 

He pulled back, shocked. She smiled a devilish smile, one that chilled his blood. She leaned in closer, but instead of kissing him, she placed her lips by his ear. 

"Even if I have to sell my soul to the Devil, I will make sure that you will be mine. That Laure, Rowena, whatever you call that bitch, will not get between us. We were meant to be. The prophets have claimed it so. Will you deny destiny?" 

A cold wind breezed in through the open window. Salazar shivered and pushed Nícola away from him. His eyes were wide at that revelation. Of course he had not forgotten that damned prophecy. 

"They have said to avoid her. You can gather than from context, at least? For the 'children of the snake born to those with the wing will—'" 

"Stop," Salazar said sharply. 

"Where has your honor gone, Salazar?" 

He glared. "How am I obstructing my honor now, may I ask you. Whether you like it or not, I will board the next caravel to the Isles." 

Her eyes sparkled, this time with panicking worry. "War ravages the countryside. You shall be killed!" 

"Do you believe swords can kill me?" 

Nícola's fists shook. 

Salazar looked out the window. He grimaced, feeling anger pulsating from his once-lover. "I will survive in the Isles. Perhaps I shall flee to the hills until the war stops. Laure shall deliver her child there." 

He suddenly felt a stinging blow to his cheek. He kept his head still, despite the force of that strike. Nícola's hand quivered in mid-air. 

"How dare you speak of that bastard child in front of me?" she hissed. 

Salazar shook his head, trying to clear the cloud of ire fogging his thoughts. His child will be no bastard. As soon as he arrived in the Isles, he planned to wed his Laure, his Rowena. He turned on his heel and started walking away. 

"You are making the biggest mistake of your life Salazar! You are dooming your line! You are corrupting Fate's fabric of destiny! You are to be with me!" 

Salazar glared at the cold, stone floor. "Fate does not rule me, Nícola!" 

After a short pause, Nícola snarled quietly, so that he could barely hear her, "Yes, Fate will consume you. And your sons and grandsons and their sons and their sons. Any of your blood will be consumed by this! A pox on you, Salazar, and your Capetain whore! May you live in misery, and may Fate be merciful enough to grant me the life so I can watch you suffer!" 

He did not hear anything else. He rounded a sharp corner and stomped to his chambers where he knew that his beautiful Laure, his beautiful Rowena, was waiting for him.   
Draco's lids withdrew as soon as the dawning light touched upon them. He yawned and slowly rose from his bed. He checked his watch then cursed. He was up much too early. He had been asleep for no more than four hours. 

What had woke him? 

He sat in his bed, staring at the black and silver sheets. He had dreamt up something that may have once happened almost a millennium ago. And not just any happening. It was about Salazar's excursion to the Isles where, a decade later, he would establish the Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry with the other three of the Founding Four. 

He groaned slightly. His back, though the throbbing had been considerably less than before, was sore. Incredibly sore. He wondered how long he would have to put up with the pain, then wondered if it would ever subside. 

Draco got out of bed, shivering as soon as he set his bare feet upon the cold, wooden tiles of his bed. He walked into the Slytherin commons, lit the hearth, and sat down on to the nearest couch, his head swimming with vague notions and ideas. Sleep did not come easily for him this morning. 

Nícola de Lonclé-Navarra. Her name run in his mind like a bell. He closed his eyes, listening to crackling of the wood on the ash-black mantle. He knew he had heard that name before. But where? 

His mind jolted. He opened his eyes. 

"Of course," he said out loud and stood up. He rushed over to the nearest window that overlooked the Forbidden Forest. He grimaced as he remembered that episode. 

"The Red Widow," he whispered. 

Possibilities and doubts ran though his mind. No doubt that the woman who cursed Salazar's blood line was indeed the present-day Red Widow. Draco frowned, however, casting dark purple shadows over his weary features. 

That scene had occurred one thousand years in the past. How was she still alive today? Surely she wasn't the metallic vampire that he had seen that gruesome night when Hermione almost died. 

His shoulder twinged again. He clapped his hand immediately over the mark, cursing. It hurt more frequently these days. He did not know why. Was it because of his dreams? Draco smiled wryly, wondering what Voldemort's blood type was. Perhaps their blood types were in discordance with one another. 

Just then, he felt a chill shiver up his spine. The warmth that filled the commons seemed to plummet into an icy breath of wind. 

Nícola de Lonclé-Navarra had repeatedly cursed Salazar's heirs. It didn't fit in with some prophecy. What curse was that? What purpose did it hold? Draco wished that he could know the answer. Perhaps he was under the same, age-old curse? Would he die because of it? 

Of course, no one knew the answer. Perhaps except the Red Widow. Draco grimaced. He would definitely not run into her lair again. Perhaps she'd stop wishing this time and simply seduce him. After all, if she was the previous lover of Salazar, why not make love to his heir to fulfill her desires? She seemed quite frankly to do just that in their last meeting. 

But Draco immediately abandoned the thought of another encounter with the Red Widow. He wasn't even sure if this dream wasn't something that his imagination conjured up. 

He sat back down onto the couch and stared at the dreary stone walls if the commons dully, starting to doze off. 

**** 

Hermione stepped out of the Head Girl's bathroom with a towel wrapped around herself. She twisted her dripping hair in a towel and rubbed the water off her face. She rubbed away the water vapor that clouded the mirror and frowned as she stared at her reflection. 

She lifted her neck and grimaced. There were red spots on the pale skin of her neck. It was where Draco had kissed her. She turned red immediately. She closed her eyes and could almost remember his lips suckling her skin, caressing it with his tongue, sending jolts of electricity through her nerves. 

Just then, she glared, straightening her face. Reality was that Draco Malfoy had given her this unattractive hickey. Three in total. She leaned into the mirror and licked her lips. They were unusually puffy and red. 

Damn him and his lips. And his tongue. She flushed and spun around, marching out of the bathroom. 

She threw open her wardrobe doors, donned her golden sweater-neck and a black skirt. It was too early to put on her uncomfortable uniform. She stared at herself in the mirror frowning. Two precarious marks were still visible. She grabbed her scarf, draped it around her neck, and tied up her wet hair. If it weren't for the sudden Heads meeting, then she wouldn't have even gotten up this early. 

She stared at the mirror once more, examining her puffy lips. Oh, God. Dumbledore would stare at it, and in one glance, he would know that the goody-goody Head Girl had just been snogging someone. 

She dug in her drawer, taking out a tube of lip gloss. She dabbed some on her finger and gently rubbed it on her lips. It gave the swelling some coverage but not much. Oh well. She would just have to deal. 

Hermione soon ran out of her room and to the Head professors' meeting room. Upon her arrival, four heads snapped up to greet her: Gregory Hawking (the Head Boy from the Hufflepuff house) Professor Dumbledore, and two men whom she did not recognize. One of then smiled up at her. Hermione blinked. He was handsome and no more than twenty-five. The other man was middle-aged, perhaps the age of her father. He had striking blue eyes and a thick, black mustache. 

"Miss Granger! I am pleased that you had gotten my message after all. I had thought that the midnight owl might have found you asleep." Professor Dumbledore smiled warmly, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. He knew that she was in detention. 

"Come, Miss Granger. Gentlemen, Mister Wellington and Professor Hopkins, this is Hermione Granger, the Head Girl from the Gryffindor house. Miss Granger, this is Professor Hopkins, the head of Study of the Ancient Runes department at the Oxford University of Magic." 

Hermione smiled and shook the older man's hand. "How do you do." 

Dumbledore then extended his hand towards the younger man. He smiled. 

"And this is Mister Thomas Wellington, the student representative of this program." 

Hermione smiled and shook his hand as well. "Pleased to meet you." 

He nodded his head and flashed her a charming smile. She felt the heat rising up in her cheeks and looked quickly away. 

"Professor," she said, turning to meet Dumbledore's eyes, "program?" 

"Please take a seat, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, sitting down himself. 

Hermione did as she was told, taking a seat next to Gregory Hawking. She met his dark eyes questioningly. He shook his head and stifled a yawn. Hermione understood his fatigue. It was five in the morning after all. 

"Now, I have understanding that you are taking a NEWT class in Ancient Runes?" the headmaster asked her. 

Hermione nodded. She spotted the forming smile on Thomas Wellington's face. 

"Well, I am pleased to announce to my Heads that after many years of letters and correspondence, I have agreed to participate in the abroad program for the students studying Ancient Runes at Oxford to continue their studies here. At Hogwarts." 

Hermione could not help thinking, *Study with what?* Hogwarts was very short on Ancient Runes material. In fact, there were no more than five students in her NEWT class. 

Dumbledore smiled. "Tomorrow, twenty students from the university shall arrive at Hogwarts. They will remain here, pursuing their studies, until the Yule Ball." 

Hermione and Gregory looked up interestedly. 

"They shall depart the day after." 

Hermione and Gregory both blinked. Hermione felt a girlish excitement well up her throat. 

"And yes, both of you, the scholars will attend the Yule Ball. I am counting on _you_, Miss Granger, to quell the girls' excitement regarding this matter." 

"Pardon?" 

"The scholars will be exclusively male." 

"Oh!" she said in a squeaky voice. Only male? "Of course." 

"We're thrilled that this school has accepted our proposal. It's not every day that such an institution gains the personal recollections of the Founding Four." 

"Sir?" Hermione asked, looking up at Dumbledore. She spotted the briefest flicker or a frown. He did not seemed the least bit thrilled or as enthusiastic about this at all. But then he smiled in her direction, perhaps telling her to keep quiet, and turned towards the middle-aged man. 

"I thank you for making such an excursion from Oxford to here. Now," said the professor, getting up, "I seem to remember that I have promised you brief tour of the castle?" 

Gregory stood up and motioned the two Oxford men to the doorway. "if you'll follow me, gentlemen..." 

Hermione stood as well, about to assist Gregory in the tour, but Dumbledore stopped her. 

"Miss Granger, there is another reason that I called you this morning. Please...sit." 

Hermione did. She didn't dare meet the headmaster in the eye. Did he know about her and Draco? Did he see the marks on her neck? Maybe he noticed her puffy lips. 

"Yes...professor?" 

Dumbledore folded his hands. He sat behind the table, his eyes hardening, losing the light twinkle. "I must ask you something regarding your detention." 

*Oh...no.* 

"I must ask you... Has Mister Filch assigned you and Mister Malfoy to any work in the library?" 

*Oh. My. God. Did he see us kissing?* 

"Yes...?" 

"Miss Granger, I'm sorry to tell you that—" 

"I'm sorry, professor!" Hermione burst out. "I'm really sorry. It...really meant nothing! I swear! Please, don't strip me of my title. I really...it will never happen again! Please, prof—" 

Dumbledore held up his hands. "Miss Granger, calm yourself. You are getting hysterical. Please, remain seated." 

Hermione, in her panic, had noticed that she leaned on Dumbledore's desk. She sat down, mortified beyond all imagination. So he _had_ seen them kissing. 

"Now, it seems that we both are having difficult mornings. Would you like a cup of tea?" 

Hermione sunk in her seat. "No, thank you." 

"Please, I must ask you to remain calm. Questions later, is that understood, Miss Granger?" 

She nodded. 

"I do not understand what your side of the story is, Miss Granger. But, however, I wanted to ask you whether Mister Filch has asked you to stack a chest-full of books... All volumes in four distinct colors." 

"What?" Hermione narrowed her eyes. She scruched her nose and stared down at her lap. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?" 

Dumbledore looked bewildered. "Yes. Did you have anything else in mind?" 

"No...no, of course not. Er...the books...I don't quite seem to remember..." 

Hermione's mind spun with relief. Oh...he did not know! 

"Miss Granger, I must tell you that those books are of the utmost importance." Dumbledore stared piercingly at her. "You _must_ try to recall anything." 

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm sorry professor. I don't remember... I'm sure I would have told you if there was something..." She paused. She narrowed her eyes slightly, suddenly remembering. 

She and Draco were heading down to the dungeons...he wanted to put a feather-weight on the chest, but she refused. She told him no... 

They arrived at the library door to find it locked. They argued for the longest time until Draco had found the solution to the problem. He used the key that was meant to open the chest to open the library doors. She remembered. Those books were in the chest. 

"Actually, yes...I do remember those books. I...stacked them all. With Malfoy. It was a long time ago, though." 

"Ah." Dumbledore leaned back in the chair. "Do you have any idea what they are, Miss Granger?" 

She shook her head. "I opened one," she admitted. "But the language was gibberish to me. I think it resembled some ancient runes...but they were to intricate." 

"You're correct on that account. They are runes. In fact, they are really memoirs." 

"Memoirs of what?" 

Dumbledore smiled. "Not of what. Of _who_. Those are...autobiographies of the Founding Four." 

Hermione gasped. "The Founding Four? But then those texts must be so old! They lived during the early middle ages, didn't they? Around 1066?" 

"During the time of William the Conqueror, yes. The texts were reproduced twice to preserve their memories by students and scholars at Hogwarts. However they had been stolen some fifty years before from the school. We have just recently retrieved them." 

Fifty years ago... Voldemort's time... No, he couldn't have possibly stolen them. Could he have? 

"Is there anything wrong with them?" Hermione asked. 

"It seems that Salazar Slytherin's recollections, the green cover books...they have gone missing." 

Hermione lifted her eyes. "I haven't done anything to them. I don't think that Malfoy has either." 

Dumbledore tilted his head slightly, perhaps appraising her words. At last, he nodded. "I didn't believe so." 

"Er...so is that all you wanted to know, professor?" 

"Yes." His blue eyes regained that lively glimmer. "Of course, is there anything that _you_ would like to tell me, Miss Granger? You seemed quite flustered since we've began this discussion." 

"Oh, no! I was...thinking of something else..." 

"I hope that Mister Malfoy and you are getting along?" 

"Yes, sir..." 

Dumbledore nodded and stood up. Hermione did also. He led her out to the doorway. She glanced at the clock. Six in the morning. 

"I daresay you have some time before classes?" 

She nodded. 

"You may want to sleep a bit more. You look fatigued." 

Hermione shrugged. "I'm handling it." 

Dumbledore laughed richly. "I'm happy to hear that, miss Granger. Oh, and I have word from Madame Pomfrey that Harry Potter shall be released from the infirmary tonight." 

She looked up at Dumbledore and smiled. 

"I daresay that it will be a happy reunion." 

"Thank you professor!" she cried, running off the Gryffindor commons. He waved at her. "I must tell Ron!" 

**** 

Potions. Draco rolled his eyes. Back to slaving over that Polyjuice Potion with Weasley. He despised this whole project. 

As soon as he entered into the chamber, he spotted Hermione Granger rapidly scratching down notes onto her parchment while balancing a thick potions book on her lap. With pleasure, he noted her puffy lips and the scarf draped around her neck. 

She looked up briefly. After flashing him the most hateful glare, she grit her teeth and went back to scribbling on the parchment. 

Draco stared around the room. There was no one else but him and Hermione Granger. He walked slowly up to Hermione and peered over her shoulder. He noted with an amused smile that those were the notes that they were to take for today. 

She stared up at him suddenly. Her dark eyes flashed with anger. "Sod off!" 

"Temper, Granger. Say, isn't that today's assignment?" he sneered. 

She turned back to parchment on her desk. "So what if it is?" 

"Naughty, naughty. I hadn't even dared to imagine the Head Girl behind on her work." 

He felt a spurge of pleasure watching her shoulders tense. He backed away a bit, a smirk crawling up the corners of his lips. 

"You're so annoying," she remarked angrily. 

"You're probably the most unsociable person I've ever met." 

"Leave me alone!" she yelled, slamming the book down onto the table. 

He raised an eyebrow and leaned back on the table. He crossed his arms elegantly and smiled pleasantly, his eyes flickering over to the scarf covering her neck. "Or what will you do?" 

"I'll throw a toad into your potion!" she near-screamed. 

He laughed at her response. "Not everyone is as uptight over grades as you are, Granger. Why don't you think of something better?" 

"I think she means, Malfoy, that she will make your life hell." 

Draco's head snapped towards the direction of the new voice. He caught the growl escaping his throat. Blaise Zabini strolled in, his book back slung casually over his shoulder. 

"What the fuck do you want?" Draco asked. 

"I have class, here, if you haven't figured that out already," snarled Blaise. He then looked down at Hermione and tenderly watched her scribbling some last minute notes onto the parchment. Draco felt that same anger bubbling inside of him. But this time, he felt something else; was it envy? 

"Do you want my notes?" asked Blaise. 

Hermione looked up in surprise. Draco stared at him in shock as well. Why was Blaise being so nice to her? 

"No, no. Thank you. I'm done..." 

"Right." 

Draco and Blaise watched her close the potions book, carefully studying each other as well. Draco wondered what his motives were. 

Just then, Snape strode in. He raised his eyebrows, probably surprised to see two prominent Slytherins towering over the Head Girl on her sides. 

"Good morning, professor," Draco said. 

"Draco." 

"Good day." 

"Zabini." 

Draco stared at Hermione to find her fiddling with her skirt. She smiled weakly but neglected to say anything. 

Students began to file in slowly. Draco and Blaise both took their designated seats toward the back of the chambers. 

"Why are you up to?" Draco asked quietly. 

"What do you mean?" asked Blaise, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out his potions text and raised an eyebrow. 

"You know bloody well what I mean. Why are you being so nice to her?" 

"Oh." He grinned. "To Hermione Granger?" 

Draco didn't respond. He watched a gaggle of Slytherin girls enter and take their seats. 

"Why not? I think I'm starting to like her." 

Draco stared at Blaise irritably. 

"Truly! And she likes me, I know that much." 

Draco snorted with disbelief. 

As soon as all of the students found their seats, Professor Snape began to lecture the class. This time, they weren't experimenting, seeing as how they were waiting for the ingredients to dry. Toward the end of the class, Draco had written down five pages of notes. His hand throbbed horribly. 

Just as they started to pack their materials together to leave for the next class, Professor Snape stopped all of them in their tracks. 

"Remember! We meet here at seven to pick the fluxweed! Today's the full moon, or have you all forgotten?" 

Draco narrowed his eyes. He had detention then. When everyone left, he found himself with Hermione next to him facing an annoyed Snape. 

"Yes, yes, that bloody detention of yours," he muttered when Draco addressed this concern. "You're excused this one night. That's no reason to celebrate. Identifying fluxweed is no stroll in the park. _Be prepared_." 

"Of course, professor," Draco said happily. 

Hermione nodded beside him. 

As soon as they exited the chamber, Draco smiled, rather content with the turn of events. "No detention! I deserved a break, anyhow." 

Hermione remained silent. 

He risked a quick glance at her and scowled. "Come now, don't tell me that you _wanted_ to go to dentition." 

"Of course not!" she snapped. 

"Are you still angry about last night, then?" he asked hotly. 

She didn't answer, which meant that she was. 

"Get over it," he snarled. "We both agree that it didn't mean anything, right?" 

"Just leave the issue alone, Malfoy." 

He did, but he silently fumed all the way up the stairs. Just then. when he did reach the stairs, his eyes widened. 

"Blaise?" Hermione asked. 

"There you are!" said he, strolling up towards them. "Glad I caught you. I wanted to ask you about metaphysics." 

Hermione blinked, clutching her book bag. Draco felt anger tense his muscles. 

"All right," she said, walking slowly up to him. 

"Oh, good! You see, I'm rather hopeless when it comes to things like these... I hope I wasn't interrupting anything?" He stared over at Draco then smirked. 

Hermione sniffed and looked away from Draco. "No, in fact. You weren't." 

"Good. Well, let's head over to the library. Do you have a free hour now?" 

And so did they walk off, chattering rather loudly, leaving Draco by the entrance to the dungeons. 

**** 

Lucius Malfoy roared in anger when he read the forwarded correspondence from Dumbledore. It seemed that the old coot was making it impossible to rid the school of mudbloods. He had rashly reported that Oxford students were to arrive at Hogwarts on the seconds, which was tomorrow, to pursue their studies over the old texts. 

This was a double strike against him and his lord. First of all, he couldn't possibly order the mudbloods home with the university students and administrators here. Not only would that bring Malfoy name bad light with the muggle sympathizers, it would disgrace his family by insulting the prominent members of the British nobility in both the muggle and wizarding world. 

Those who went to the Oxford University of Magic were not just ordinary, run-of-the-mill students. Among the scholars were many prominent young men and women of the nobility, those of titles and vast lands. Those whom Lucius associated himself with. And they were very well-known muggle sympathizers. 

Second of all, they were students of ancient runes. And Lucius knew what the subject of their study was. It was those books of the Founding Four's recollections. He cursed. Over the summer, Dumbledore had somehow managed to infiltrate through the death eater ranks and steal them. 

Dumbledore was most likely offering those texts for study to the students. Now, it was even more harder to get them back to the dark lord. 

Lucius sighed. Despite the horrendous turn of events, he still planned to go to that school and confront Dumbledore. After all, it was his duty to his lord. 

"Oh, Lucius?" 

Lucius turned away from the fireplace. He spotted Narcissa in the doorway wrapped in a thick robe. 

"Narcissa? What are you doing up? The doctor said that you should be resting." 

"I know, but I thought to write a letter to Draco. I do hope that he is eating well. We should have sent him to Beauxbatons. _They_ know how to treat the aristocracy." 

Lucius rolled his eyes and stared back into the fire. "Nonsense, Narcissa. Remember, I wanted him to attend Durmstrang. But we settled on Hogwarts." 

"I can't believe he's in detention." 

"It's because of that filthy mudblood." 

Narcissa remained quiet. Lucius knew that they shared similar dispositions towards mudbloods, but while his was pure, undisclosed hate, she simply disdained them. 

"Go back to sleep, Narcissa." 

"After I write the letter." 

"For God's sake, woman! I'll write it. You'll fall ill just standing there." Lucius stood up and escorted his wife back to their room. There, he helped her into bed and gently brushed away a few wayward strands of blond hair. 

He couldn't help it. While he felt nothing for his son, he could not possibly neglect Narcissa. He had met Narcissa during his early teenage years. She attended Beuxbatons, and they met at an inter-scholastic ball. 

They met years later as Lucius was preparing to find a suitable bride in order to inherit his money. He had married Narcissa quickly, thinking not much of her. She was beautiful and pureblooded. That was all that mattered. Besides, he had been planning to send her away for months at a time to foreign countries on an on-going vacation...but somehow, he had grown fond of her. 

"Please write Draco for me, then, Lucius," she pleaded weakly. 

Then, before Draco's birth, he had met Voldemort. His life had changed for the better. He taught him that affection were a great weakness. Emotions were as fickle as the changing moon as were the bonds of matrimony. 

Lucius managed to pull himself away from Draco before it was too late, but with Narcissa, it was completely different. They had been married for five years then, and those years and the memories and emotions that came along with it couldn't be severed on one allegiance. 

He tried, oh God he tried, to remove Narcissa from his life. He took in whores, kept mistresses, and occasionally didn't come in at night. But her affections towards him never changed. Never did she waver from his side and he found the woman completely loyal and devoted to him. He failed at tearing Narcissa away, and at times, he was glad. Life could be awfully desolate with just yourself to trust. 

He felt guilty for betraying Voldemort at times, but all the while, he tried to shield his wife from the death eaters, despite his attempts to hurt her. She didn't know of half the things that went on in his life. She knew of his status as a Death Eater and even disapproved of it but never the in-detail things. Least of all Draco's new destiny as Voldemort's heir. 

He cringed at the thought of Narcissa's reaction to all of this and mostly at the outcome of his plan. 

But she would have to deal with it. He wasn't too fond of the ungrateful, teenage boy as he was of Narcissa, and even then, Lucius doubted that his wife ever hindered him in the direction that he chose. 

"What do you want me to say?" he asked. 

"I've bought some wonderful dress robes for him. For the Yule Ball. Please send them over with my love." 

Lucius nodded and left her bedside. But not before giving her pale hand a small squeeze. 

  
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

  
  
**End Notes**: I know this is a bit unorthodox, but it was thrilling to write a Lucius who wasn't a Satan-incarnate. I've yet to read a Lucius who is portrayed as anything but an unfeeling, perverted, wife-raping monster. ^_^; 

I guess the Red Widow will make an entrance in the next chapter...perhaps a very brief one. I don't know. Depends on the story. ^_^ Keep reading though! 

Look, I have people asking me in reviews to basically have conversation more "casual"... Truthfully, the dialogue represented in the story is basically how I speak. *_* I really can't think of any less "proper" or more "casual" way to do it. I guess I'm just saying that I won't really make a HUGE effort to alter the dialogue...I truthfully like it the way it is. Thank you for your comments, though. I really appreciated them. ^_^ 

And, as always, review, por favor! 


	14. To Deny Her Newfound Desires

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 14: To Deny Her Newfound Desires   
By Callisto Callispi 

**Disclaimers**: Please. I can only wish. 

**Author's Note**: Gah! I'm sorry for the late update. It wasn't due to my lack of inspiration; I had plenty of that. But you can't believe how much homework I have from school. It's ridiculous: I am taking six classes this term, and I end up with an hour and half worth of homework time for each class! X_x 

By the way, the Red Widow is not in this chapters...or a few more chapters, despite my earlier promise. SORRRRRY! 

*** ... * thoughts   
### change in view point of the same scene**

_Since we've seen each other, a game goes on.   
Secretly I move, and you respond.   
You're winning, you think it's funny._

"Poem 1245" by Rumi 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Come on, you lot! This is a need for celebration! Take out the scotch!" 

"You drank it all, Seamus, you git. McGonagall confiscated the rest," Ron said irritably. 

"What? What is this? No bursting champagne? What a gyp!" someone in the back cried. 

"Ah, shut your hole. You're too young anyway." Ron turned towards Hermione and Harry, muttering, "First years. Get more annoying by the year." 

Harry laughed richly. Hermione smiled broadly next to him, but inside, she was quivering with worry. Despite his outer appearances, Harry had not recovered...at all. Madame Pomfrey said that he was fine, but he must have put on a damned good act. 

After Hermione picked up Harry from the infirmary, they had been walking down the hallway together to get to the Gryffindor house. Ron couldn't come because he was acting as the stand-in captain for Harry. 

Then, all of a sudden, right after just telling Hermione a joke, he had doubled over. 

He wheezed, as if he couldn't breathe. She had ran to help him, and she rubbed his back as Harry started to cough violently, almost spasmodically, as if someone had shoved a hook down his throat. 

Blood spurted from his mouth onto the stone floor. She remembered paling immediately, begging that he return to the infirmary. 

But he faced her, and the expression that he had on his face frightened her. His once-warm green eyes were almost black. Perhaps it was because of the paleness of his cheeks...she didn't know. But she knew that she would never forget the look in those eyes...it was as if she stared into the eyes of a demon. 

"No!" he spat, his voice wheezy and airy. "You can't make me. I'll kill anyone who dares to touch me, especially that fool of a nurse." 

Hermione almost fainted when she heard this. Her throat felt so dry. His eyes...they were so black. 

Just then, as quickly as he began coughing, the color rushed back into his face. As soon as they moved into the light of the candle-flame, his eyes began to lighten into the green hue that she loved. 

Harry blinked rapidly, as if waking up from a coma, and shook his head slightly. "I mean, I'm sorry, Hermione...it's just that I hated being up there...you know? I hate being locked up. I didn't...mean what...I said." 

"Of...of course. I was just worried about you...Harry." She was very reluctant to take a step towards him. 

She now stared at his laughing face, her eyes slightly narrowed. Harry was not the Harry from before. He was not well but rather worse. The poison had not worn away, despite all of Madame Pomfrey's care, despite all of Snape's potions. 

"Oy, Hermione!" 

Hermione snapped out of her trance and faced Ron who tossed out bottles of smuggled butterbear into the hands of eager Gryffindors. He turned towards her and tossed her a bottle. "Come and join us." 

Hermione nodded and took a sip of the butterbear. 

**** 

Eight o' clock came all too quickly. All of the seventh years who were taking Potions were huddled together near the edge of the Forbidden Forest in the chilling winter wind. Hermione distanced herself from Ron. She still remembered his attempt to ask her to the Yule Ball, and she felt rather abashed for her rejection. 

"Snape's nuts to call us here this late," said Gregory Hawking, walking towards her. 

"Yeah, well, he's always been off his rocker to begin with. So how did that tour of yours go? With those people from Oxford?" 

Gregory shrugged. "Polite enough blokes. I think that Wellington chap's taken a fancy to you. He kept asking me who you were and which house you were in." 

Hermione laughed. It sounded bitter from shivering. 

"It's strange, you know? I mean Dumbledore letting outsiders in after the Triwizard incident. He did keep isolating Hogwarts from the rest of the world, thereafter. Even that Hopkins professor kept telling Wellington and me how glad he was of Dumbledore's sudden acceptation and how unexpected it was. I wonder what that old coot is up to." 

Before Hermione could reply, Gregory quickly shushed her. "Look. There's Snape!" 

Indeed did Snape approach them, donned in his usual black robes. He first addressed the class, ordered them to get with their partners, and led them towards a large patch of land near Hagrid's hut. Then, he told them to pick their ingredients. 

Hermione hated this task more than anything. Pansy approached her, icy hatred colder than usual glimmering in her eyes. In the beginning, Hermione paid no heed to her obvious dislike, but a few minutes later, Pansy swung her basket, squarely hitting Hermione in the back of her head. 

"What is your problem?" Hermione demanded angrily. 

"Stupid bitch," Pansy spat. "Stupid _mudblood_ bitch." 

Hermione was taken aback by this. No one had ever called her a bitch before. Mudblood she could stand. Bitch, she could not. In an instant, Hermione threw her basket down onto the frozen ground. 

"You disgusting piece of lard! How dare you! How dare you say that to me!" Hermione wanted to rattle off every demeaning quality of Pansy, such as her nightly habits with the boys and her desperate obsession with Draco, but she kept her tongue still for the sake of being civilized. 

"Stupid slut. Siren-whore. You did something to Draco," she hissed. "You cast some sort of a spell on him. You fed him a potion. You are blackmailing him somehow." 

"_WHAT_!" she shrieked, catching the glances of a few nearby Hufflepuffs. 

"Don't deny it! Why else would he prefer you over me?" 

Hermione's fists trembled. Her fingers itched to draw out her wand. "You're sick! God, you just—you're so stupid, so sick! You think that I somehow jinxed Malfoy to have him attracted to me?" She laughed hollowly. "My god, you are stupider than I thought! Have you no sense at all? I have no intention of being with him. I have no intention of taking him away from you, not that you really had him to start with. God! Gross! Sick! I can't believe what your perverted mind will come up with next and—" 

Hermione ducked as soon as she saw Pansy's hand shoot out for her hair. Just as she was about to scream at her sod off, Snape slowly glided behind Hermione. 

"Is there a problem here, ladies?" he asked smoothly from behind Hermione. 

Quickly, her anger evaporated, replaced by a dull thud of frustration. Her fingers closed into fists. 

"She was about to assault me, professor," Pansy struggled out, also attempting to quell her anger. 

Professor Snape stared down at Hermione's shaking fists, quirked an eyebrow, and glared at both of the girls. "Five points from Gryffindor," he replied, turning around. "Though I highly doubt that Miss Granger would dare to strike another during one of _my_ lessons. Control that temper, _both of you_, or I shall be forced to take more drastic measures." 

Hermione grit her teeth and, with quivering hands, picked up the basket that she had thrown down. Pansy, apparently a bit stunned over both of their outbursts, maintained her explosive outrage within herself and merely then regarded Hermione with cold fury, and the two refused to talk to each other. Even when they handed the baskets to Professor Snape, they did it separately, at different times. 

Hermione handed hers in first. As soon as she began to sign herself out of the night's lessons, Pansy handed her basket to Snape. Hermione left for the castle as soon as Pansy approached the sign-out sheet. From behind her, she heard Pansy's voice address Draco. She could tell that the two were arguing over something very passionately, but she did not even spare one glance back. Her heart throbbed and so burned with fury that she could hardly manage to say anything without sputtering. 

*Stupid, sick pig,* she thought hatefully when Pansy's face came to mind. 

Hermione ran into her Head Girl room, thankful that it was for her own use. She didn't think that she could stand another round of senseless girl-talks with Parvati and Lavender. She collapsed on the cushioned window ledge and dully stared out at the small figures droning about the edge of the Forbidden Forest—the people left who had yet to pick enough fluxweed to satisfy the amount required. 

She watched Draco with narrowed eyes. He jauntily walked about, speaking with every girl remaining. From her vantage point, she could see that they were clearly enjoying his attention. They giggled, talked back, and even resorted to flipping their hair. 

Hermione scowled in disgust. What did they see in him? Come to think of it, what did _she_ see in him? 

Hermione turned away from the window then went to bed. She had been fortunate enough to find the time since after class and before the midnight romp to finish all of her homework. All she wanted to do was to sleep. 

**** 

The weekend arrived on swift wings. Fortunately, Filch called in sick on Friday so Draco and she did not have to attend detention. They were, however, required to extend their sentence a day. 

Hermione, of course, ran right up to the library after school, her arms loaded with texts and with two backpacks slung over her shoulder. Ginny and some of the other girls in the sixth form were gossiping over Ginny's date to the Yule Ball—one of the scholars from the Oxford University of Magic. Giggles choked the silence of the Gryffindor commons, nearly driving her up the wall, and she hated the stuffiness of her own room. 

As soon as Hermione entered the library, she regretted ever taking ten extra minutes to get up here. The library was full of men, of scholars, who lugged around thick texts. Some stopped for a moment to stare at the new arrival but then turned back to their work. This would be very distracting. 

"Hermione!" Lavender called for her from one of the working cubicles. 

Immediately, the librarian shushed her. Hermione reluctantly walked towards Lavender, aware of how much work she had to do. 

"I never knew that the library could be so fun," giggled Lavender as soon as Hermione sat down. Parvati, who sat next to her, nudged Hermione. 

"You can't believe how many offers we've gotten." 

"Offers for what?" asked Hermione, opening her textbook. 

"To go to the Yule Ball!" Lavender squealed quietly. "But I already have an escort. Why are you reading?" 

Hermione looked up, her finger on the page. "I have a lot of work..." 

"Oh, _work_ does not matter now! The Yule Ball does!" Parvati insisted fervently. "Look around you! This is the best year of our lives! We have a chance to go with _men_ from a university." She smiled a smug smile. "How many girls can boast that she went to the Yule Ball with a twenty-something-year-old?" 

Hermione stared at her with irritation before turning back to her book. 

"Really, Hermione, who are you going with? Don't tell me that you and Draco are an item!" 

Hermione looked up again, watching Lavender and Parvati share a secret smile. No doubt Parvati had shared her admiration for Draco with her best friend. "Me? With that conniving idiot? Don't be ridiculous." 

"Well, who are you going with? After all, the Head Girl just _has_ to have an escort." 

Hermione looked back down at her book but did not read the pages. She truly hadn't thought about a date. She had been so preoccupied lately, with her work, detentions, and especially her strangled relationship with Draco. 

"I haven't really thought about it," she admitted. "I suppose I'll go with Gregory...I mean, the Heads have traditionally gone together in the past years." 

Lavender suddenly turned red. 

"What?" Hermione asked in an accusatory way. 

"I'm sorry, Hermione," said Lavender, fiddling with the sleeve of her blouse. She nervously combed her fingers through her shiny blond hair. "Gregory...well, he's been fancying me ever since school began...and he asked me." 

"Oh," said Hermione, suddenly deflated. 

"Well, it wasn't my fault!" Lavender cried passionately, earning a death glare from Madame Pince. "The poor bloke was almost wetting himself when he asked me. I couldn't turn him down," she continued in a whisper. 

Somehow, the ever-cool Gregory Hawking almost wetting himself over a girl seemed highly unlikely, but Hermione did not question her friend's response. "Well, it's all right..." 

"What about Harry? Or Ron?" Parvati interjected, trying to be helpful. 

"No. Harry's going with someone from Ravenclaw. Ron..." She trailed off. "I can't believe this. I'm discussing dates. Never mind. I'll just go alone. I mean, it can't be all that bad." 

Hermione regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. Parvati and Lavender stared at her with unspoken horror, as if she had grown another nose. 

"Well," Parvati struggled to say, recovering from the shock of Hermione's words, "you've chosen a good year to be without an escort from Hogwarts. Because look around you!" 

Hermione did. She spotted some studious scholars. She turned back to Parvati and Lavender, shrugging. "So what?" 

The two girls rolled their eyes. "Snag one of them. They much more better-looking. Plus, if things do get steamy between you two, you'll be sure as hell that _they've_ had their _experience_." They raised their eyebrows suggestively. Hermione grew more agitated. 

"Do you truly think that I would have a shag with someone right after I—" 

Just then, Parvati and Lavender shushed her, for two scholars walked up to their table. Hermione recognized on of them as being the student representative of this whole program: Thomas Wellington. 

"Miss Granger, is it not?" he asked with a bright, winning smile that sharply reminded Hermione of Gilderoy Lockheart. However, Wellington was rather more strikingly handsome than the fraudulent professor. 

Hermione smiled politely. "Mister Wellington. I hope you are enjoying your stay here." God. She couldn't believe how much of a hotel clerk she sounded like. 

"I am, thank you." He nodded towards Parvati and Lavender who were eyeing Hermione slyly. "Ladies." Then, he turned back to Hermione. "Miss Granger, I have a wager with my colleague here. We seem to be at a disagreement on a certain rune. I was hoping that you would be able to decipher which one of us is correct." 

Hermione frowned slightly. "Oh, I am not as knowledgeable in runes..." 

"Professor Dumbledore highly recommended you." 

"Oh, do go on and help the poor man, Hermione," Lavender insisted. 

"Yes. You mustn't be greedy with knowledge," Parvati added happily. 

Hermione glared at the two girl but stood up, smiling. "Of course." 

The Wellington man presented her with a heavy, dusty old text that seemed not to have been used in ages. He pointed out a symbol shaped like a crescent with a few dots drawn in precariously around it. 

"We think it might represent fertility, seeing as how it clearly depicts the moon above these two dots," a scholar next to her remarked eagerly. 

"That's absurd. Why would something like this suddenly transition from the hill to fertility?" countered Thomas from her other side. 

Hermione peered closely at the text, feeling a slight flush run up her neck. She wondered what she was doing here between two scholars of the prominent Oxford University of Magic. 

"I...er..." she started hesitantly. 

The two scholars beside her ceased their bickering immediately and turned their heads toward Hermione. She shrugged helplessly. "I'm truly not sure on this. It might represent what you two have said, but my guess is that it represents the crossroads... Perhaps a roadway to hell and sin, and the other to heaven and goodness. See how the dots are arranged...?" 

They stared at her for a few seconds then the zealous scholar stared back at the text. He scribbled something furiously in his notebook with a bright grin on his face. 

Hermione peered at him anxiously. "Was I right?" 

Wellington stared at her with newfound admiration. "Miss Granger, you have done us a world of good." 

She blushed. 

"Please, I wish to speak with you," he said, drawing Hermione away from the other scholars by her arm. She followed hesitantly, aware of the work she had to do and aware of his warm hand on her skin. 

When they were away from the Ancient Runes area, Wellington grinned almost shyly at her. "I've been wondering, Miss Granger, if it would please you to be my partner for the Yule Ball. If you don't already have an escort, of course." 

Hermione blinked, feeling a sudden shyness that she had never felt before. Her mouth felt dry. This amazingly handsome man had just asked her to be his partner. What would she say? What would she say? What if he was only joking with her? Oh, the humiliation...but...was he being serious? 

"I haven't been to these functions for years, I do believe that we would have a terribly good time." He flashed her another winning smile that made her kneecaps shake. "So what do you say? Will you allow me to escort you?" 

"Y-yes. That would be nice," she managed to say. Her heart throbbed inside of her chest. 

"I'm glad, Miss Granger. Or...may I call you Hermione?" 

Hermione nodded with a small smile. "O-of course." 

"Then please call me Thomas. I shall be looking forward to this, Hermione. I do hope that we get to see each other...soon?" Then, after flashing her another brilliant smile, he left her alone in the book stacks. Hermione wanted to jump with joy. 

**** 

Hermione's Saturday had generally been restful. The weather had gotten more chilly, and snow was now falling in massive amounts. She sat on the ledge of her window, sipping some hot chocolate, a historical novel that her mother sent to her in her other hand. 

It was six o'clock, time for dinner, but Hermione was only slightly hungry. She would have dragged her arse to the dining hall anyway except for two reasons: Thomas and Draco. 

She still felt a bit queasy talking to Thomas. After all, he was this gorgeous twenty-something year old, and here she was: a plain brown field mouse who just happened to be Head Girl. She direly hoped that she would get over this shyness so she could act cool and suave in front of Thomas Wellington instead of tripping over her feet. Oh, but he seemed too nice to laugh at her if she ever did that. That fact comforted her heart a bit. 

But she felt as if she would sock Draco right in the nose if she saw him. Some Gryffindor fifth year had come knocking on her door just last night at two in the morning, crying her eyes out. It seemed that a certain Slytherin and she had a shag, and she found out a little too late that he had been merely using her for a little midnight treat. 

Hermione clenched the cup in anger. She thought that she would drown in her bed with the rate of flow of that girl's tears, but what angered her more was Draco's behavior. Even though the girl refused to tell her who had her (and Hermione couldn't demand the information out of her, seeing as how she was the peer that younger students with life troubles went to), she told him that he was a seventh year student. Of course Hermione automatically figure out that it Draco. Who had a more rapacious attitude? 

Hermione sipped the rest of her hot chocolate and went up to the dining hall, hoping to find Draco. After all, she couldn't neglect her duties to her peers just because of some silly little kiss. 

However, just as she emerged into the dining hall, Hermione immediately wished that she had taken care to dress herself better and at least wore a skirt instead of the casual jeans and sweater, for Thomas had just caught her eye. 

She managed a quick smile that she hoped would keep him away, just until she could confront Draco. However, he did not get the hint and motioned her over to the table. She suppressed a sigh of exasperation and strode over, aware of the momentary glances of nearby scholars. 

"At last, we meet again," said Thomas with a little laugh, moving over on the bench. Hermione sat down, noting anxiously that Ron wasn't here...yet. 

"How is your research coming along?" Hermione asked. 

Thomas sighed. "Not well," he grumped. "Sometimes, I wonder why I even took this course." 

Hermione, however, did not answer. She spotted Draco Malfoy holding a glass of water heading towards the table where she and Thomas sat. To her surprise, Thomas stood up and smiled, as if he knew Draco. 

"Draco. Took you long enough. Come, sit. Hermione, I believe you know him." 

"Wait..." Hermione started, feeling utterly lost under Draco's penetrating gaze. "You two know each other?" 

"The Wellingtons have always been close to our family, Granger," Draco sneered, sitting across from Hermione and taking a sip of water. She glared furiously at him. 

"Since when?" she snarled. 

"Since ages ago. I believe Christopher Wellington attended the last big Malfoy bash. My father and his are good business partners. Of course, I'm just assuming that this goes right over your head, you being so...common and all." Draco smirked at her. 

Hermione immediately stood up. If the Wellingtons were close to the Malfoys, no doubt they were death eaters as well. She bit back a moan of frustration. Why was she so attracted to death eaters? First Blaise, then Draco, then Thomas. Wait...was she attracted to Draco? 

Thomas narrowed his eyes. "I take it that you two are not...friends?" 

Hermione did not answer him but merely kept her glare on Draco. Draco did the same, but he had that infuriating smirk on his face. 

"I...need to talk...to you," Hermione managed to sputter out to Draco. 

He seemed mildly surprised. 

Hermione turned to Thomas. "Sorry...it's just head girl business..." 

After Thomas's bewildered nod, Hermione nearly dragged Draco out of the dining hall while he complained bitterly over her sudden aggressiveness. She found the nearest empty classroom, and as soon as she entered, she slammed the door behind them. 

"If you wanted to have a shag or something, you could have just told me. My room would have sufficed," he said acidly, straightening out the wrinkles in his robe. 

"Don't talk to me about shagging, Malfoy," she spat out. "I think you had enough of that last night." 

Draco stared up at her, curious. "What?" 

"Don't play dumb!" she exploded. "June came running to me last night, crying her eyes out! How _could_ you, Malfoy? I didn't think that you could even break a girl's heart like that!" 

He stood from the desk she leaned against and tilted his head. "June? Who is June?" 

Hermione threw her hands up. "I can't believe you took her without even bothering to learn her name. That is low, Malfoy. Even for you." She began to pace angrily. Hermione didn't know why she was so flustered. In other cases, she would have coldly spoken to him instead of raving on and on like some jealous ex. 

"Granger, I don't know what you are talking about." 

"Yes you do. Don't play dumb!" she nearly screamed. 

Draco suddenly moved from the desk to where Hermione was and stopped her from pacing with his hands forcefully holding her shoulders. "Just stop moving, damn it," he said exasperatedly, "and explain. What the bloody hell are you talking about?" 

Hermione wanted to push him away. Oh, how she wanted to push him away. But she didn't. His hands...oh god, memories of that night by the library. She could almost taste his kisses, being so near him. 

"I know that you...had sex with June last night, Malfoy. You don't need to lie to me. But why did you have to break her heart like that?" she bit out quietly, seethingly. 

"What?" He still did not remove his hands. On the contrary, the grip his fingers provided got more firmer. 

Hermione wanted to lash out at him and demand to know why he was playing dumb. It was amazing: his stubbornness to maintain his innocence. But just as Hermione was about to push him away, something clicked in her mind. 

_Wait. Perhaps Malfoy was not the one._

"You think that I shagged this June last night?" he demanded. 

She blushed furiously and looked away. _Oh. My. God. He wasn't the Slytherin!_

Draco placed his finger on the bottom of her chin and tilted her face up to his. She tried to avoid his gaze, but his was too penetrating to be ignored. His eyes were the color of the coldest steel...but why did they reflect such a softness when he stared at her like that? 

"Did you?" she asked weakly. 

"Did I what? Have a shag with her? No!" 

Hermione couldn't bring herself to respond. She looked away once more. "I'm...sorry. This has been a terrible mistake. I'm...really sorry." 

He still did not remove his hands, and Hermione stood there, paralyzed, mortified beyond all imagination. Despite her own horror, she felt slight vibrations from his body. Hermione stared up at Draco and found him laughing! 

At first, she wondered if anything was on her face. Then, when he wouldn't stop, Hermione demanded, "What is so funny?" 

"You," Draco chuckled, attempting to sober himself. "When you are embarrassed, you have the funniest looking mug that I have ever seen." 

Hermione could not bring herself to retort against that. After all, she had just openly suspected him of bedding June without any solid foundation for her implications. She did not want to seem even more spiteful than she already was. She merely glared at him, still uncomfortably aware that his hands still gripped her shoulders. 

Just then, Draco stopped laughing and stared deeply into Hermione's eyes. Her breath caught in her throat. Oh. God. He was doing it again: seducing her with just his look. 

Reluctantly, painfully, she backed away from him, never breaking her gaze. She immediately craved the warmth of his palms. But it was treacherous to think thus. 

"I haven't made love to anyone since this whole fiasco began," he said quietly, obviously referring to the "fiasco" as their detention sentence. 

"Do you want me to congratulate you or something?" Hermione asked throatily. 

He smirked slightly. "I haven't slept well last night." 

"Why is that?" 

"A brown-haired girl kept intruding in my dreams." 

Hermione's throat was dry. She couldn't believe the words coming out of his mouth. 

"I keep seeing her, Granger, in my mind. I keep envisioning her walking through the door to my room, hopelessly lost and searching for someone." 

Hermione looked down at her hands. Her heart beat rapidly against her chest. She was so consumed by her thoughts that she hadn't even noticed that Draco stood right in front of her until his fingers grazed her cheek. 

"She cries, you know. I didn't have the heart to tell her to fuck off. So, I get out of bed and ask her, 'What's wrong?'" 

Draco's fingers gently lifted Hermione's chin upward to face him. His touch sent memories tingling through her mind. She remembered that night, and all of her dormant desires for him started to flame. She wanted to kiss him, and the realization did not shock her. The need to feel his soft lips upon hers overran her senses. 

But Draco wouldn't kiss her. He kept talking. "And you know what she says to me? She tells me that she can't tell anyone anything. That she promised her lover that she wouldn't tell anyone. But she says it hurts so much to keep it secret because she fears for his life." 

Hermione closed her eyes. Fire exploded in her chest and ran through her arms and stomach like hot oil. Lovers. Secrets. Trysts. 

His fingers slid from her chin to her cheek. He stroked her skin gently. Hermione felt her legs move on their accord, towards his body. Slowly, his arms gathered around Hermione's form and enfolded her against him. His hands caressed the curve of her back and waist tenderly as if he held a figurine of glass. 

She leaned her head against Draco's chest. The silk of his black cloak cooled her feverish face. She felt the muscles of his chest against her cheek. She smelled his spicy cologne. All aroused her even more that she was. 

"But I want to know. I don't give a damn about her lover or her promises." His hot breath tickled her neck. "I want to know." 

Hermione's fingers caressed the smallest folds of Draco's cloak. God, what was she doing? 

Draco then gingerly pulled her slightly away from his body. She was almost relieved for his body felt like a hot coal that burned with a fearful passion. She feared that he would scorch her. But disappointment quickly overcame her for she wanted that heat. 

She parted her lips to ask why he had just done that. But before she could get a word out, his lips covered hers, and just like that, Hermione found herself kissing Draco Malfoy again. 

It was like a minor orgasm but completely different. Her tension and desire had been so built up, but instead of relieving her of her desire, he had only heightened it. Her blood pulsed rapidly through her arteries. Her body temperature was beginning to rise. Every single part of her body that he touched, whether it be her neck or arms, tingled with electricity. 

Quickly, he deepened the kiss. With little difficulty did he gently and artfully pry Hermione's lips open. His tongue quickly slid in to meet with hers, and this new sensation generated a new spark of emotion and heat that would haunt Hermione when she slept alone in her cold bed. 

She moaned as his tongue explored the caverns of her mouth. God, was this what it was like to truly kiss someone? He showed no boyish clumsiness, no bashfulness. The heat in her stomach felt as if it would explode. She had been told of this sensation. Parvati had told her that she felt just like this before someone had made love to her. 

Were they going to make love? 

Draco suckled gently on her lower lip before slowly parting from her. His usually light gray eyes were clouded so that they were almost black. "Do you know that secret?" he asked breathlessly. "Do you have a lover that I don't know about?" 

Hermione, struggling to catch her breath, shook her head slightly. "Of course not," she whispered. 

He covered her lips with his again. His hands began to explore the curvature of her body. They slid down from her shoulders, to her waist, pulling her closer to his hard body. His hands sent little sparks through out her body. They tingled and energized every little cell of her skin. 

With a desperate moan she threw her arms around Draco's neck. She needed his touch. She needed his kiss. She needed his heat. She needed this pleasure. She hadn't realized how deprived she was...spending all of those years, trying to be the role model that everyone could look up to. 

Again, Draco slowly pulled himself away from her lips but they remained within a close proximity with each other with their foreheads touching. Hermione breathed in and out raggedly, watching his fingers slowly unbutton the top of her blouse. Her eyes flickered to his dark gray ones, and she felt as if she could lose herself forever to him. Hermione's pounding emotions and desires completely blocked out her mind's protests. If they did end up having sex, she would bask herself with Draco's heat. She would rock against him if he wanted her to. She would lick his skin and run her hands down his toned chest as he thrusted in and out of her. 

Just as soon as Draco moved his hand towards the last remaining button, the door suddenly slammed open. 

"And so I was saying to him—" 

Hermione and Draco froze. The heat that had engulfed them soon chilled and evaporated. Two first year girls from Hufflepuff stared at the two, their mouths wide open. 

Luckily for Hermione, Draco recovered from their harsh interruption and quickly tossed his cloak over her to spare her from her exposed state and possibly from revealing her face. He grabbed her hand and ran out the door, sparing a charming wink for the two girls. 

"Our secret, ladies?" he called before making his way completely out of the door with Hermione trailing behind him. 

They dashed through the corridors, all conveniently empty, and ran into another dark classroom. As soon as Draco closed the door behind him, Hermione breathed out in sudden relief and started to button up her blouse. 

That interruption came just in time, before she would have completely lost herself. Good god, what was she thinking? She had just imagined in her mind a scene of Draco and her making love! As if sharing those secret kisses weren't bad enough! 

"Well, that was rather exciting," she heard Draco behind her say. Hermione did not miss the sneer in his voice. She brushed his presence away wearily. 

"We can't do this," she muttered as soon as she buttoned up the last button. "We just can't. It's too... It's not right. We can't do this anymore." 

"Funny. I was under the impression that you were _enjoying_ it for a moment there. But silly me, I _must_ be mistaken." His tone was bitingly sarcastic. "How could I ever think that the holy martyr who calls herself Hermione Granger would ever enjoy a kiss?" 

Hermione turned around to face him. "Well, what do you want me to say? That we should continue this?" 

Draco smirked. "I want you to say that you want me, Granger. That you want me badly." 

Hermione shook her head. "No. I don't." 

"I can see it in your eyes, damn it. Hell, I can taste it." 

Hermione flinched at that last remark. "It was momentary, Malfoy. I—I can't do this anymore. It's not befitting for the Head Girl to—" 

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Damn it, Granger. What's wrong with a little kiss? It didn't kill you, did it? You treat it like some sort of a plague." 

She couldn't find a response. But how did she tell him that she absolutely melted when he kissed her? How could she tell him that she felt so warm when his hands rubbed her body? How could she tell him all of that without mutilating her pride? 

Slowly, Hermione backed away from him, forgetting that the cloak that she clutched so tightly to was Draco's. She felt tears sting her eyes. God, she did not want to part from him, but what else could she do? Stay and snog shamelessly like some harlot? 

"Please, Malfoy," she whispered, her voice beginning to tighten. "We can't do this anymore. It's not right." 

Draco didn't answer. He merely glared coldly at her. 

"I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for...bringing you here in the first place. Just...let's keep this a secret between us, all right? It won't be...good...if this all got out..." 

He snorted derisively. "As if I want the whole school to know what I did with a mudblood." 

Somehow, his words did not sting her as they usually did. Instead, she felt empathy for him. He said mudblood in a whole new tone—not hate, spite, or even disdain, but with longing. Unfulfilled longing. 

Hermione turned on her heel and slowly began to walk out of the classroom. She just stepped out the door when Draco's voice stopped her. 

"By the way, if you want to know who deflowered your precious June, then I suggest you go ask Blaise Zabini. I'm sure he can give you all of the _intimate_ details of his night with her." 

Hermione turned back to face Draco, her eyes wide in shock. "Blaise?" she squeaked. 

He smirked triumphantly and crossed his arms. "Not the saint that you thought he was, is he?" 

Hermione blinked then walked out, mumbling her thanks. So. She would go talk to Blaise now. And to think that she had hoped that he was different from his peers. Hermione scowled. No. Slytherins were Slytherins: greedy, avaricious, and wanton. Just like Draco. 

But damn that spoilt, platinum-haired brat. Why did she want him so badly? 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *   
  
**End Notes**: Finally. We're getting to romance. Thought it would never come, didn't you? ^_^ But, let me tell you, these romance scenes are damn hard to write. I hope you enjoyed this one—and hopefully, I didn't screw up too badly. 


	15. Drinks at Hogsmeade:Blossoming Affection

**The Passion of Hate and Love**  
Chapter 15: Drinks in Hogsmeade; Blossoming Affection  
By Callisto Callispi

The next morning, Hermione decided to take advantage of the Hogsmeade trip to buy new dress robes for the Yule Ball. She searched through out the village and finally happened upon a small little boutique that came _highly_ recommended by Parvati and Lavender. Hermione had to admit that she had been a wee bit jealous when she saw their new beautiful, glittering dress robes.

"Oh, may I help you, miss?" A slender woman with dark hair walked over.

Hermione smiled, gazing around the shop. Golden light warmly bathed every single article of clothing, making the robes seem more softer and appealing to the eye. "Yes. Thank you. I have something coming up..."

"Don't tell me. You're from Hogwarts, right? You're here to get a dress for the Yule Ball?"

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, we've had a few girls here and there purchasing robes." She smiled and gently grabbed Hermione's arm. "Let's see what flatters you."

Almost two hours later, Hermione finally made a purchase. The new robes cost almost all of her money -- twenty galleons -- but she thought that they were worth it.

"Oh, it'll look beautiful on you, Miss Granger," the shopkeeper said, beaming and settling the robes into a white box. She wrapped a red bow around the box and handed it to Hermione. "That color is perfect for you and for the winter. You'll look like a princess!"

Hermione grinned, her heart thumping with pleasure. She hugged the package to her chest. "Thank you for your help."

The shopkeeper waved her good-bye as Hermione exited.

She stepped out into the snow and spun around on her heel, staring up at the dark sky, feeling as if she could fly -- she could not remember being so happy this year. She couldn't wait until the Yule Ball. She had everything a girl could possibly wish for — a gorgeous date, incredibly beautiful dress robes, and the honor of being the head girl. Could life get any better for her?

Hermione walked with a small skip in her step. She kicked the snow, grinning madly. A few passing wizards shook their heads at her rambunctiousness. A few minutes later, Hermione entered into a small parlor. She walked up to the counter, ordered a butterbeer, and scurried over to the last empty table. And as the warm liquid rushed down her throat, her whole fingertips tingled. Hermione sighed a closed her eyes, convinced that life could not get any better than right now, yet very much oblivious to the fact that someone was walking right up to her.

**X**

Draco hated the winter. It was so cold. He loved the coolness of early autumn nights when the summer heat lingered in the evening. But somehow, the Malfoy manor always seemed so cold and drafty.

Draco realized that he hated his father...again. He got another message from Lucius. He was supposed to be here tomorrow to speak with the headmaster. Obviously, this involved muggle-borns. Draco wished that his father would not poke his nose into his life. He only agreed to go to Hogwarts because it was so inaccessible to even the most prominent wizards. Trains were available only six times a year. Once for September, twice for Christmas, twice for spring break, and once for June. Other rides had to be specially arranged. But, of course, Lucius Malfoy would ride his carriage here drawn by his best winged stallions. After all, Malfoys traveled in class.

Draco kicked the snow and cursed in the folds of his scarf. He was glad that he left his fellow Slytherins at the Three Broomsticks. Actually, he was glad to have left that loud parlor. He only wanted to be alone.

Draco spotted a smaller parlor and decided that he was thirsty. He went up to the counter and ordered some heated butterbeer with the actual beer. The girl at the counter didn't ask him for his age — she merely winked flirtatiously and spun around in her short skirt. Draco sighed. He didn't care — he was too depressed and angry to be attracted by some cashier.

He received his drink, and when he turned around, he cursed. All of the tables were taken. His gaze roamed over the room, trying to find an open seat. And sure enough, he spotted a familiar brown head of hair. He peered curiously at the young woman who balanced a small package on her lap then grinned sardonically. Well, well. Hermione Granger. He strode over to her.

**X**

Hermione stared out into the evening sky. The stars were beautiful tonight and yet she felt so alone here...most of the people in the parlor sat together at the tables in couples. Hermione refused to stare at them — it only made her depressed.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Granger. And away from your two bodyguards."

She jerked visibly. Her eyes narrowed as she saw him looming over her with a glass of red liquid in his hands. "Are you stalking me?" she demanded.

Draco laughed. "Do you want me to?"

Hermione sipped her butterbeer and looked defiantly away.

"Can I sit down, at least, if you are going to be such a snob?"

She was about to tell him to go find his own table, but seeing none available, Hermione spat out, "Go ahead."

"How cordial of you," he said merrily, sitting down.

Hermione still stared outside, endeavoring to keep the blood from rushing to her cheeks. She still couldn't believe that the person that she had kissed for the first time sat across from her. The thought made her shiver, but she did not know whether she shivered from disgust or pleasure.

"Granger."

"What?"

"Look at me."

"No."

A sigh.

"Please?"

"No."

"Why are you being so stubborn?"

Realizing that she was being childish, Hermione slowly reverted her gaze towards Draco. Her eyes met his gray ones.

"That's better. Now people won't stare at me as if I angered my girlfriend."

This time, Hermione couldn't fight down her blush. "I am _not_ your girlfriend, Malfoy," she hissed.

He grinned devilishly. "You're right. Actually, you kiss me as if I were your passionate lover."

He reached over and placed his hand upon hers, rubbing his thumb over her wrist teasingly. She gaped at his audacity.

"So, lover, same time tonight?"

She jerked her hand away, fuming. He laughed at her reaction and took a drink from his glass. Hermione tilted her head suspiciously, smelling something resembling alcohol.

"I don't suppose you have a date for the Yule Ball, right?" he asked casually.

She crossed her arms. "Why do you want to know?"

Draco seemed to think about it then shrugged. "Just curious, believe it or not. Curious whether the plain little church mouse can dance."

Hermione snorted. "Well, since you brought it up, yes. I do have a date."

"With that Hawkings _boy_, right?"

"_No_. I'm actually going to the Yule Ball with a someone else," Hermione said, her eyebrows rising slightly in disdain. A small trickle of satisfaction coursed through her as she saw Draco frown.

"Your father doesn't count, Granger."

Hermione sipped her drink, used to his subtle bullying by now. "That's rather obvious, Malfoy."

"So who are you going with? Don't tell me one of those bookworms from Oxford!"

Hermione looked away. Draco laughed mockingly. "Which one is it? The one with the thick glasses? Or the one that stutters whenever he talks to girls? It's rather funny that you've chosen to go with them when all of the Slytherin girls rejected the poor bastards."

"Just stop it, Malfoy," Hermione snapped. "I can't believe that you are so cruel."

Draco kept laughing as if this were the funniest thing in the world.

Hermione watched the liquid in her cup swirl around. "Just shut up, Malfoy. I'm not going with either of them, okay?"

Draco sobered slowly. He bushed back his hair. "So, who are you going with?"

Hermione didn't answer. She could feel Draco's curiosity gnawing at him. She merely took a sip of her butterbeer, trying to swallow down a satisfied smirk. She couldn't believe that she was having so much fun keeping him in suspense.

"So you aren't going to answer me?" he asked.

Hermione merely took another drink of her butterbeer. She was infuriating him, and she loved the feeling.

**X**

Draco stared at her, taking the last swig of his wine. She was enjoying taunting him. The little vixen.

Her eyes sparkled. She tried to steal little glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking. But he was always looking at her. That familiar desire brewed in his stomach. Why did he care if she went with someone from Oxford? Was it because he was jealous? Perhaps. Draco wasn't shocked at that fact. He was merely disturbed.

"You don't mind, do you?" she asked him.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Mind what?"

She allowed the tiniest of grins to grace her lips. "That I won't tell you."

"I'm just curious. What would it matter to me who you're going with?" Draco scoffed.

"Liar."

He stared at her eyes then, for the briefest time, at her lips. For someone who had never kissed, she was a damn good kisser. Draco sighed and rubbed his face with his hands. What was he thinking?

**X**

Hermione finished off her butterbeer, catching little glimpses of Draco. He was handsome, she couldn't deny that. But...Draco Malfoy was definitely not her type! Hermione always dreamt that she would become hopelessly infatuated with the degree-holding, sparkly-teethed, intelligent men. Draco? She strongly doubted that he would ever decide to attend a magical university, though he was clever in his own little ways. But...he did have nice teeth.

"So you're really not going to tell me who you are going with, are you?" he asked her.

Hermione shook her head.

Draco stared at her in a pondering way, as if he wondered what he should say next. Then, as quick as lightning, he leaned over the table and kissed her. Shocked, Hermione leaned back before she could register the softness of his lips again and stared at him, wide-eyed. He grinned back maliciously, sliding his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Malfoy, what in the world are you doing? I thought we agreed that we wouldn't do that anymore!" Hermione hissed, her crimson cheeks steadily darkening in hue.

"No. _You_ agreed to that. I don't recall saying anything of the sort."

Hermione stood up angrily. "Draco Malfoy, if you ever do that again —"

"Come sit on my lap, sweetheart," he laughed. "I'll give you all that you want."

Hermione grabbed her package. Just as she was about to turn on her heel, Draco's hand shot out to grab her arm. He quickly turned her around, and she flew into his arms.

"You're breaking my heart, Granger," he said quietly, staring intensely at her. "After everything we've been through, you would leave me just like that." His eyes roamed over her face and down her neck. He stopped at her collarbone, perhaps not daring to go down further. "What's in the box?"

Hermione shrugged out of his grip, instantly feeling the cold engulf her. "My new dress robes."

"Sit down, Granger."

She sniffed contemptuously. "You can't tell me what to do."

He grinned back at her. "Just sit. Let's talk."

Hermione glared.

"Well, you're leaving me again, my love?" he asked in a louder voice so to attract the attention of all of those sitting near them. "Where are you going? Oh god, please don't tell me...you're going to him, aren't you? The one who walked in on us when we were in our bedroom."

Hermione's eyes widened in disbelief. "Malfoy! Shut up, you idiot," she hissed, aware of the hostile glances shot at her from the couples.

"You are attracted to him, aren't you? I saw the gleam in your eyes when he came to our flat this afternoon. I can't believe it, love. And after you accepted my ring of promise. My goddamned ring!"

Hermione giggled nervously and stared around. "He's lying. I don't have a ring —"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What's that around your neck? Isn't that my family crest? Didn't you promise me that you would never leave me when you accepted that as a token of my undying affection?"

Hermione caught her breath. He saw it. She looked away from a brief moment. She didn't know why she wore it — maybe because it was his. Hermione felt suddenly so helpless. She was aware of the glares from the neighboring couples. Stiffly, she sat down, glaring at Draco's seemingly innocent face.

"You Machiavellian little worm," she whispered angrily.

"Brilliant man. Have you studied him?" he asked pleasantly, though there was no mistaking the triumphant gleam in his eyes.

Hermione looked away, trying to muster what little dignity that she had left.

"Oh, now Granger, don't tell me that you don't find me the least bit charming."

"Malfoy. _I don't find you the least bit charming_."

He smirked. "Liar."

Hermione looked away.

"Granger," he started in a much softer voice.

"What?" she muttered.

He leaned in. "You have my ring."

She stiffened. "You gave it to me, Malfoy. Or don't you remember?"

"Incredible. I thought you would have chucked it out of the window by now. I'm actually rather glad that you didn't. That ring has been in my family for generations. I was a fool for ever betting that in the first place — it is far too valuable for that sort of game."

Hermione fingered the metal chain on her neck that she looped the ring with. "Do you want it back?"

Draco seemed to consider the offer, but then, he shook his head. "No. Too easy. I lost my wager, so it's yours to keep."

Despite that, she began to unclasp the necklace from her neck.

"Granger. What the hell are you doing?" Draco asked irritably. "I don't want it."

"But it's yours," she insisted.

Draco shook his head. "Let me think of a more challenging way to get that back. A wager, perhaps?"

Hermione opened her mouth to object, but then Draco placed his index finger on her lips. "Not yet. I'll have to think of the wager this time — it's only fair."

She was about to insist that there didn't have to be a wager to begin with, but, knowing Draco's stubbornness and his determination, Hermione sighed, clasped the necklace back on, and shoved the ring back under her shirt. "Think of it fast, or I might just throw this into the lake."

Draco grinned playfully. "So now that we have that settled, let's focus on the big issue here. Who is the mysterious person, assuming that it's a man, that would be escorting the martyr, Hermione Granger, to the Yule Ball?"

She shook her head. "Malfoy, I don't want to tell you. You're only going to tease me more."

He shrugged. "But its so fun. And anyway, I'm here sitting in front of you so you might as well tell me."

"Because you're sitting in front of me?" Hermione asked skeptically. Then, seeing that he would not waver from this stand either, she finally gave in and said, "Oh all right. I'll tell you who is escorting me."

Draco leaned back on his chair and grinned. "Now didn't I say before that I always get what I want?"

She rolled her eyes before speaking again. "I'm going with Thomas."

"Thomas? Thomas Gordfeller? That fat bloke?"

"Malfoy, stop it. You judge far too many on their appearances."

He sat back, disappointment clearly etched on his face. "Well, Granger, I thought you had better taste than that. Why are you going with him? A pity thing?"

She glared, sorry that she had ever let him sit here. He should have been out in the snow, drinking his beer all alone. She still couldn't believe that he had the gall to drink _beer_ in front of her. As if she wouldn't know. And she could taste the alcohol on his lips. She pushed that thought away, early enough so she didn't blush too badly. "I'm going with Thomas _Wellington_, Malfoy."

He stared at her, shocked. "Thomas? Wellington? But he would never go out with mug —" He stopped himself from saying anything further, but Hermione knew what he meant. She stared down at the package in her arms, feeling almost embarrassed. Muggle-borns.

"I think you're lying to me," Draco said frankly.

Hermione looked away. She felt...almost ashamed. No. She couldn't feel like that. She was proud of her heritage...even if people like Draco Malfoy thought different.

"Then don't believe, me," Hermione replied icily.

Draco leaned back in his chair and nodded, satisfied. "Fine. I won't. Thomas only goes out with the outstandingly beautiful women. I don't know what possessed him to ask someone with your mediocre looks."

That familiar anger roused within her again. She glared at Draco who only smiled back mockingly. "I am _not_ mediocre!"

He laughed. "Really?"

Hermione calmed herself down before saying anything more stupid. "Remember, Malfoy. I am the Head Girl. I have the power to take away points from your house."

Draco raised an amused eyebrow. "And why is that? For calling you mediocre? God, Granger. I didn't know that you were so vain."

"I'm not as half as vain as you, Malfoy. But I did believe that consumption of alcoholic beverages is illegal when committed by minors."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Good lord. That rule only applies to pregnant women."

"It applies to you too! Twenty points from Slytherin when we get back. You're lucky that I'm letting you off with just a warning."

Draco rolled his eyes again. "Please. Do you really, truly think that I would care if you take off points from Slytherin or not?"

Hermione nodded. "It's your house, isn't it?"

"It's not as if we're going to win the House Cup this year, what with those points taken off from that rather embarrassing quidditch incident."

Hermione felt herself flush once more. She neglected to comment on anything and instead ran her finger over the edge of her package.

"By the way, Granger, have you talked with Zabini, yet?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip and slowly shook her head.

"Well, that is rather fair, isn't it?" Draco sneered. "The Head Girl only yells at people she _thinks_ are bad."

"Look. I just couldn't find the time, all right?" she said hotly. "Anyway, I'm going to speak with him tonight."

Draco looked away, scowling.

"Besides, Malfoy," she added quietly. "I've never thought of Blaise as that."

Draco neglected to answer and they sat in silence for a few minutes. Hermione sighed and rubbed the smooth, golden band of her watch, and when she checked the time, her eyes widened.

She stood up quickly. "We're going to be late!"

Draco stared at her. He looked at his own pocket watched and raised a bored eyebrow. "Relax. My watch says to stay a bit more." He showed it to her and Hermione stared at it suspiciously. It was a watch of the wizarding world, one that didn't show the hour but dictated what to do.

She shook her head. "Well I have to go. The Head Girl always has be there early to make sure the younger students are checked in."

"But you'll be twenty minutes early," Draco complained.

"Well, I didn't say that you had to follow me," she said primly. Then, just as she turned around to walk off, she pictured Draco here, sitting alone, guzzling down alcohol by himself. The image making her feel rather guilty, she faced Draco again, biting her lip, and held out her hand.

"What?" he asked in an accusing way, staring at her hand.

"Get up, Malfoy. Come with me."

He stared up at her, shock and distrust lingering in his pale eyes.

She offered him a hesitant smile. "I know that you don't want to be at the carriages, but being bored with company beats being bored alone, don't you think so?"

Draco stared up at her face, that familiar softness brewing in his usually hard eyes. Hermione felt her heart swell a bit. Despite all of the mean, cold things that he had said to her, she felt pride when she saw that look in his eyes because she knew that that look was only reserved for her. That was the look that signaled his submission.

He smiled wryly and looked out the window, muttering something to himself. Then he looked up to face her and accepted her hand. His palms warmed her cold skin as she pulled him up, not that he needed help standing. He checked the clasp to his cloak and smirked at her.

"Now, you're not just asking me to accompany you just because you're afraid to walk there by yourself, are you?" he asked teasingly as they walked out.

Hermione grinned in spite of herself. "Of course, Malfoy," she said innocently. "Why else would I allow you to take me anywhere?"

Draco smiled back at her for a moment, and Hermione flushed slightly before looking out towards the door. He smiled. He truly smiled. She had never seen a true smile grace his lips before — only smirks, sneers, and scowls. But it looked rather nice on him. She wouldn't mind seeing that on his face more than once.

But just before they exited, Draco turned back to the expectant people watching them exit and winked. "We've had a charming time."

Cold air escaped from their lips as soon as they were outside again. And despite the chilly night, Hermione felt warm all over. She tried to convince herself that it was the warming effects of the hot butterbeer and that she was still happy over her new dress and gorgeous date. But she knew fully well that those delightful things didn't cause these warm twinges in her stomach.

Hermione purposely stared down at the ground just to see his and her booted feet moving coherently down the icy cobble-stoned street next to each other. Her heart fluttered as she felt the fabric of his long cloak next to her. It was these times that she felt as if she were truly in love with someone. She felt so elated that even the once-sharp pinches of regret that the man who she was supposedly in love with was Draco Malfoy dulled.

"So why did you keep my ring, Granger?" Draco asked softly.

Hermione hesitated before answering. She took it out and stared at it. She never noticed it before but it had the seal of the dragon and snake encrusted with diamonds and emeralds. The single band of white gold, perfectly masculine, had ornate designs carved on the surface. Slytherin, for sure.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But now that I look at it, it _does_ seem too pretty to throw into the lake, doesn't it?"

"You had better not, Granger," he retorted. "It's worth a fortune. Ten fortunes, actually. It's been in my family since King John signed the Magna Carta."

Hermione's eyes widened. "That's the thirteenth century. Wow. Your family is old."

"Older than that, actually," Draco stated nonchalantly. "A grandfather of about twenty 'greats' preceding was a powerful duke of England with intimate connections with the royal family probably a generation and a half before John, and an uncle of about eighteen 'greats' co-wrote the Magna Carta, and a few centuries later, a faction of the Malfoy family produced some archbishop or another. Don't bother trying to find anything of the Malfoy name in the muggle history texts, though. They've been wiped out during the centuries of Inquisitions, and whatever name of the wizarding world exists to the present day has been cleared by the Ministry except for people who're too well-known. Like Merlin."

Hermione stared back at the ring and then at Draco's face. He stared straight ahead, his expression hard. Hermione lowered her gaze. Even with that impressive heritage, he still didn't seem satisfied. Or rather, he didn't seem to care.

"Would you like to try it on?" he asked suddenly.

Hermione looked up at him. "Try what on?"

"The ring, idiot," he remarked, seeming slightly exasperated at her slowness.

Before Hermione had time to protest, Draco slipped Hermione's glove off of her left hand and slid the cold ring over her index finger. Still it hung very loose, and the crest looked very large. Hermione was very surprised by his suddenness but she stared at the crest. It was a very beautiful ring, but too sinister-looking and regal for her tastes.

"Hm, well, it doesn't seem to flatter you," Draco remarked honestly when he held her hand towards him.

She laughed. "Malfoy, it's rather large. And sparkly."

Draco shrugged and slipped his gloves back on. "But green flatters you."

Hermione laughed again as she placed the ring back into the folds of her shirt. "Green?"

"I don't know. It makes you look more flushed...I suppose," Draco said, brushing off that remark with a wave of his hand a few seconds later.

They walked together in silence for a few more minutes. They passed a few old witches with wrinkles lining their faces like cobwebs. They stared at Hermione and Draco almost enviously. Hermione heard one of them say behind her, "How enchanting to be young and in love again."

Hermione flushed, having half the mind to turn around and tell her that she and Draco were not in love, but Draco, almost seeming to read her mind, grabbed her by the hand and whispered in her ear, "Let the crazy bat think what she likes. She's too old for us to disillusion her."

Hermione wanted to say something back to him, anything, but she found that she was at a loss of words. Draco tightened his fingers around Hermione hand, and she slowly began to entwine his fingers through hers.

Her heart thumped when she thought of how they were walking together, holding hands, and at such a proximity with each other. Their shoulders touched intimately.

"You know," Draco said softly so only she could hear. "I — I want to —"

Hermione looked up at him with a small smile. "You want to what?" she asked, the endearment 'Draco' on the tip on her tongue.

He paused, perhaps trying to see if he could word what he wanted to say differently. But he couldn't. "I want to — to thank you."

She tilted her head slightly, mildly surprised to hear him thanking anyone. She had never heard him show his gratitude to anyone or anything before so sincerely. Perhaps it was because no one did anything worth while that merited his thanks. "For what?"

He chuckled wryly, letting go of her hand. His arm snaked behind her back and looped around her waist, pulling her closer to him. Hermione, no longer shocked by any show of affection from Draco, allowed herself to be engulfed in his warmth. She felt so secure and comfortable against him, breathing in his fresh, masculine scent.

"For asking me to go with you. It was rather decent of you," he admitted.

Hermione leaned her head slightly against his shoulder, for the moment not caring who saw them. "You don't have to thank me for that," she said softly. "I would have been lonely anyway."

They walked like that until Hermione spotted the carriages up ahead. She would have pulled herself away from Draco's warmth, but somehow, with each step, it became increasingly difficult to do just that. Draco didn't seem to want to let go of her either.

But when she heard Professor Flitwick's squeaky voice, the man who was the supervisor of this Hogsmeade trip, Hermione bit her lip and stopped walking. Draco did also and they stood in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes. Hermione desperately craved his warmth, and the thought that she would have to part with him made her that much more desolate.

"You're fifteen minutes late, Head Girl," Draco leaned in and whispered into her ear.

Hermione smiled as Draco's warm breath brushed over her neck. "I know."

"So you're still going to take away twenty points from Slytherin?" he asked with an amused grin.

Hermione playfully pushed him away. "So is this why your manner was so decent all of a sudden?" she demanded, pretending to be angry. But her smile gave away her enjoyment of being here with him. Amazing how she could feel so warm with him just staring at her so softly.

"Of course," Draco said quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Well, I don't want to have you exert yourself for no reason. I'll let you off the hook this time, Mister Malfoy." Hermione craned her neck to look over his shoulder. She spotted a group of Ravenclaws heading over in this direction. "Oh, I had better go and make sure everyone comes..."

Draco stared at her one last time and ushered her towards the carriage. He followed her while placing a modest distance between her and him. And right before Flitwick greeted them, Draco managed to whisper into her ear once more: "Well, we'll see if this little church mouse can dance, shan't we?"

Hermione looked at him, raising a superior eyebrow. "You just watch, Malfoy."

* * *

**End Notes**: Wow. Lil' ol' angsty me writing _FLUFF_! The world is coming to an end. ;) 


	16. I Wish I Could Love You

**Author's Note**: Whew. Long time since I updated, eh? Thought that I was dead or something, didn't you? Hehe. Anyway, sorry folks, but this is _not_ the Yule Ball chapter. But there will be interesting developments, I promise you that! 

. 

_Can't you see that nobody wants to be lonely,   
Nobody wants to cry.   
My body's longing to hold you so bad it hurts inside.   
Time is precious and its slipping away   
And I've been waiting for you all of my life. _

"Nobody Wants to be Lonely" by Christina Aguilera feat. Ricky Martin 

.

* * *

. **

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 16: I Wish I Could Love You   
By Callisto Callispi 

Hermione woke up with the warm caress of Draco's hand on her cheek. She blinked a few times then sat up, noting with disappointment that the warmth came not from Draco's fingertips but from the rosy beams of dawn spilling in through her window and onto her face. Hermione flung the covers aside and prepared for a shower. 

Sleepily, she entered the washroom. Then as her bare feet made contact with the cold, tiled floor, Hermione woke up from her dreamy state immediately. But, strangely, the dream that had been so slowly fading from her mind like a morning fog suddenly slammed into her mind with such vivid details that she reeled and had to latch onto the edge of the marble sink to keep from spinning. 

With her eyes closed, Hermione, confused and at times frightened, watched the images slowly turning in her mind. Even as she stepped into the shower and turned it on, the images came to her, playing in front of her inner eyes like a broken film. 

Hot water beat upon her chest and shoulders. Hermione closed her eyes, almost able to feel his hand clasping hers as they walked up an emerald-green hill together. She felt as the water slid down her stomach and thighs the snake entwining around her waist, just like that long, thin snake that inhabited the crystal-clear lake where they swam in together, drunk with love and lust. Hermione sighed out fumes of steam, envisioning -- no, _remembering_ -- how he took her against his chest when the snake poked his head up from under the water, hissing, flicking out its forked tongue. 

Amid the rush of the water through the shower head did Hermione think that she could almost hear the deep rumble that was his laughter. He charmed the snake away and then they made . . . love. Hermione snapped her eyes open. Her chest heaved. Draco and her? No -- even in dreams that was impossible. 

All through her shower and even as she dressed herself did images haunt her, flashing in front of her face light cameras until she thought she was going mad. When Hermione finally felt the urge to scream did the images halt. Then Hermione blinked as she approached her mirror, slowly. 

"What was that?" she whispered. "Why am I having these dreams? About Draco Malfoy?" 

Hermione shook her head and screamed. "Leave me alone! _Leave me alone!_" 

She clapped her hands over her mouth. Was she going mad? "No, no. No. It was just a dream. Just a dream. Draco Malfoy and I can't be . . . like that." 

Then, with that affirmation, Hermione walked out of her room, her heart thumping. She was scared. She was so scared that Draco Malfoy would be the one to make her crack, to made her lose her mind. But that happened when people were in love, didn't it? Didn't love make people blind? Didn't love drive people to do mad things? 

"But I'm not in love," she whispered furiously as she entered the Gryffindor common room. She saw Ron entering. He waved at her. She waved back. "I'm _not_." 

**-x-x-**

"Welcome, Mister Malfoy," the house elves greeted as they opened the door to his diamond-gilded carriage. 

He stepped out and stared up at the dark-purple sky, hoping that the meeting wouldn't last long -- he needed to be back at the ministry by noon, and the journey had already been unpleasantly time-consuming. 

Lucius was graciously taken into the Hogwarts Castle by some more house elves. They passed through numerous corridors, corridors that were rarely used by students or even the ghosts. Vivid paintings, both moving and non-moving, surrounded Lucius and his entourage of elves. The illustrations stared down interestedly at the new man. Lucius, for the most part, did not even acknowledge their presence, until he passed a gold-framed illustration that depicted two majestic dragons with their tails entwined. Lucius's eyes narrowed. 

Soon, the house elves led him into another corridor, and in the doorway, he saw a tall, regal figure awaiting him. He smiled, steel in his gaze, and performed a sweeping bow. 

"Professor McGonagall." 

"Hello, Mister Malfoy," she said sharply. "Please follow me." 

He did, amused by this woman's attempt at majesty. 

Soon, they approached the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and said, "Sesame Sugar Saps." 

The gargoyle slid to the left and revealed yet another corridor. 

Professor McGonagall turned and motioned for him to enter, her eyes glittering with undisguised hostility. "The headmaster awaits." 

Lucius bid the professor his thanks and entered the office. 

"Ah, Mister Malfoy," said Professor Dumbledore in greeting. 

"Headmaster." 

"Please, take a seat. Would you like some lemon tea? Does wonders for the body in the morning." Dumbledore smiled at Lucius, but the old wizard's eyes were like chips of ice. 

"No tea, thanks, but I will take a chair." Lucius sat and open his briefcase. He handed a folder containing a pile of neatly stacked papers to Dumbledore. "The department's records, the appropriate evacuation papers, and the seven signatures of the Ministry's administrators are all accounted for." 

Dumbledore flipped though the files, looking almost bored. "I see that the twelve governors did not ratify this." 

"Headmaster, the evacuation of those of . . . questionable heritage . . . is a scholarly matter for the boards of education to deal with. Not the governors' cabinets." 

Dumbledore smiled once more. "And I suppose that my expulsion from my position as headmaster five years ago was not at all a matter for the Board of Education to deal with?" 

Lucius smiled pleasantly back at the headmaster, trying to push away the memory of that miserably failed attempt. "Headmaster, you are confusing the matter here. Muggle-born children were getting harmed then. These are merely precautions so that they won't be harmed this time." 

The headmaster flipped through the files once more, an obscenely blasé expression on his face. Even in his old age, the old coot was as hard to rattle as a rock. "I shall look into them soon. You see, I find my schedule rather full these days, what with the Oxford scholars and all." 

Lucius scowled. His voice trembled with cold fury as he spoke. "If I would be as bold to advise, I insist that you look into those as soon as I leave." 

"Lucius, I am a very busy man, but I assure you, I will look at these papers. And now, I must prepare for breakfast. Would you like to eat with the staff?" 

Lucius had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Breakfast in this clammy castle? "No thank you, Headmaster. But actually, I do have one request. May I speak with my son before I take my leave?" 

The headmaster seemed to hesitate before speaking. He nodded graciously, but Lucius still spotted the gleam in the old wizard's icy eyes. 

"Yes," began Dumbledore carefully. "I believe that would be permitable. I'm sure young Draco would be delighted to see you. These are the times when a boy needs his father, after all." 

**-x-x-**

Draco woke up early, which was quiet unusual for him. But it wasn't his own doing. Oh, no. 

"Stupid bird," he muttered as he climbed out of bed and opened the window that the black owl had been pecking at ceaselessly for the last quarter of an hour. He snatched the letter from its beak and slammed the window shut again right in the bird's face. The owl hooted, astounded at this behavior, then flew off without a second look back. 

Draco stared at the letter blearily for a few seconds, rubbed his eyes, and fell back to his bed. He tore open the envelope and took out the letter. He read this for a few seconds then laughed out loud. 

It was from her! Marie Dimitrov! He laughed for so long and so hard that the letter fell from his hand and fluttered to the ground. 

_Dearest Draco, _

I understand that your school, Hogwarts, will be hosting a Yule Ball near Christmas. My father says that you are without a partner. Durmstrang, the school that I attend, does not hold such festivities. I will travel to England for the vacation, and I expect that you and I will both enjoy ourselves immensely at the ball. Do not worry about my cousin -- though we are engaged, he is as meek as a mouse and will not question where I am going or with whom I am going. 

With Love,   
Marie 

The stupid wench thought that he would be going with her! Draco stopped laughing and stared up at the ceiling with amusement. Yes, Marie the Beautiful -- the girl who would put a Veela to shame. But he hated her presence. Except for in bed. But he wanted to hurl whenever he thought of her company. First of all, the girl did not speak English very well. Second, all she thought about was sex, sex, and more sex. Perhaps she was a charming conversationalist in Bulgaria, but her English was very limited and hell if he spoke her language. And she wanted to go to the Yule Ball with him! 

Draco rolled off of his bed and stumbled into his own private bathroom. He showered and thought about the best way to refuse her. 

_Yes, you see, Marie, you must have been mistaken when your father said that I didn't have a partner. I actually have two, and I must see how I can break off one engagement before having a third date. Even in Bulgaria, three women with one man would be awfully unorthodox . . . _

Draco laughed. 

But the fact was, he didn't want to write that, for he truly did not have a partner. He stared at himself in the mirror as he toweled off his hair. Ever since that blasted detention, the thought of getting a partner slipped his mind. Because of her. 

For a second, Draco sighed and breathed in the fresh scent of his shampoo. An image of her face came to mind. Hermione Granger. He could still remember how she held out her hand to him, asking for his company. 

"Yes, well, too bad she's a muggle-born, Draco," he muttered to himself as soon as he felt the desire to hold her. "It'll never work. Stop being so damned infatuated with her." 

He slammed the door to his bathroom when he walked out. He angrily pulled on his uniform and snatched the letter from the floor. _Stupid, arrogant wench,_ he thought as his eyes glazed over the parchment once more. Yes, he didn't have a partner. But that didn't mean that he was desperate enough to want to go with her. He would much rather go with Pansy -- or better, Hermione. 

"Yeah, but you won't be going with her, will you?" Draco asked himself spitefully. "No. You can't possibly go with her. Not that she'd accept. And not that I'd ever ask." 

Draco picked up his quill to write a scathing letter back to Marie, telling her that he'd rather be caught dead than be with her. But as soon as his quill touched the parchment, a knock sounded from his door. 

Draco cursed. "Come in." 

And in stepped Pansy. She looked so nervous that Draco felt most of his anger die. Most. 

"What do you want?" he snarled, setting down his quill. 

Pansy stared at him then cast her eyes down. "I just wanted to see if you wanted to go down to breakfast. Are you hungry?" 

Draco was about to yell back at her to tell her to leave him alone, but then he sighed and nodded. He couldn't believe he was angry that he couldn't take Hermione to the Yule Ball. Like she was such a prize. "All right. Let's go." 

He dropped the quill onto his desk and walked out. With a broad smile, Pansy entwined her arm through Draco's. 

**X**

"Can't believe Harry's still sick." 

Ron and Hermione walked together side-by-side to the Great Hall for breakfast. As usual, Ron was in his grumpy mood. Hermione sighed. He wouldn't be good-humored for at least two hours at this rate. 

"I mean, how does he get ill so often? It's so _unnatura_." 

"Oh, Ron," Hermione said irritably. "You don't mean such horrible things. So shut up." 

"What do you mean I don't mean such horrible things -- oh, hell and damnation. Slytherins. I can't take their shit this early in the morning." 

Hermione stared at the foot of the stairs. Her eyes narrowed. Oh yes, definitely Slytherins. And, at the head, Draco Malfoy -- with Pansy clinging to his arm. 

Ron sneered at the group. A few very pretty blond girls stared at Hermione and Ron as they passed. Hermione felt heat rush up her chest as she watched Pansy sneer back at her. And -- her heart hurt. Pansy and Draco were walking together as Hermione and he had been last evening in Hogsmeade. 

"Back-stabbing snake," Hermione whispered. 

Ron nodded. "Yeah. Those are the Slytherins." 

Then, Draco stopped speaking with Pansy then turned his head to face Hermione. Hermione glared as she caught his pale eyes. But he did not respond. He only seemed to be trying to tell her something. When she obviously did not understand, Draco rolled his eyes then glanced towards Blaise Zabini who was currently talking with a pretty Slytherin brunette. 

Hermione blinked. _Oh._

"Go on without me, Ron. Head Girl stuff." Hermione then walked towards Blaise and touched his arm. "Blaise, I need to speak with you." 

Blaise turned and stared at her, surprise etched on his face. From the corner of her eye, Hermione saw Draco trying to suppress his laugh. Blaise nodded then excused himself from the group. 

"We'll save you a seat, Blaise," one of the girls said as the group walked on to the Great Hall. 

Hermione made sure that the corridor was deserted before speaking with him. 

"Blaise, I need to issue a warning." 

He stared at her for a bit. "To whom?" 

"To you." 

Blaise's dark eyebrows shot up. "To me?" 

Hermione nodded. "I've had a girl run into my room crying. She was upset about . . . about . . ." Hermione trailed off when she saw Blaise trying to smother a smile. He was not very successful. "This is _not_ a laughing matter!" she shrilled. "You could get in serious trouble, Blaise. You're lucky that I'm just warning you. This matter would be taken up to Professors Snape and McGonagall if I wasn't issuing a warning to you." 

Blaise did not speak for a few moments, probably trying to contain his laughter. Then, he said, "Okay. I'm very sorry." 

Hermione waited. When he did not say anything else, she demanded, "Is that all?" 

His dark eyes sparkled with laughter again. "What do you want me to say?" 

Hermione could not believe men! Their behavior was atrocious! "How about you promise me that you'll never do it again?" 

Blaise tilted his head to study Hermione for a few seconds. Then he shook his head in exasperation. "Yes, I could say that. But then I would be lying. I'm a guy, Hermione. I have certain . . . urges." 

Hermione felt herself blush at that statement. 

"And besides," Blaise said, waving his hand in a "forget-about-it" manner, "I'm not entirely at fault here. Ask that girl. Her name was June, right? She was hanging all over me like wallpaper. And she said that she wouldn't regret anything. So I took a plunge. And she was attractive . . . you would be surprised at what kind of a figure she has under those robes." 

Hermione struggled not to gape. A few Ravenclaw fifth years passed by. Hermione spoke again when they were out of earshot. "That's disgusting, Blaise! Don't tell me _that_!" 

Blaise laughed for a few seconds then tried to keep a straight face when Hermione maintained her glare. "Look. I don't want to have to talk to you about this again, Blaise. Got it? It's . . . it's…" She paused. She couldn't very well say "gross" . . . that sounded too childish. "Well, it's something that I shouldn't have to ever talk to you about. I really don't want to interfere in your private life." 

Blaise quirked an eyebrow. "So are you saying that I should be more discreet?" 

"I'm saying that I don't want to have to talk to you about these things anymore! I don't want to issue these sorts of warnings!" Hermione raged. 

Blaise nodded understandingly. Hermione calmed down a bit. "So _please_ alter your behavior a bit, okay? And don't make girls cry." 

Hermione could see that Blaise was about to laugh again but thankfully, he held it within himself. He took her hand in his amiably. "All right. I'll try not to. For you." 

She felt herself blush. She gently slipped her hand from Blaise's. This was definitely not one of her favorite conversations. How embarrassing. 

"So, if we're finished, can I go eat breakfast now?" Blaise asked, motioning over to the Great Hall. 

Hermione nodded. 

"May I escort you there?" 

Hermione could not help the smile that crept up on her features. "All right." 

And they walked together into the Great Hall, beginning to talk animatedly over their classes and what they bought yesterday in their Hogsmeade trip. 

**X**

Draco had been watching the entrance to the Great Hall for about ten minutes now, wondering what Blaise's reaction would be after Hermione gave him an ear-full about sleeping with one of her precious class mates. Imagine his surprise when he saw Hermione and Blaise walk in _together_ and both _laughing_! 

"What the _fuck_!" Draco cursed loudly, catching the eyes of half of the Slytherin table and the annoyed look of a passing ghost. 

But Hermione did not turn to him. Oh, no. She was _so_ engrossed with Blaise. Draco's hands clenched into fists. How dare she? She nearly ripped his head off for something that he didn't do, and now the real culprit acted as if he'd been her best friend for ever! 

Draco moved to deck Blaise and run away with Hermione, but as soon as he got up, an owl swooped right over his head and dropped a note in the empty plate in front of him. Draco glared, sat back down, and read the note. 

After a few moments, Draco cursed loudly once more ("Young man, hold that tongue of yours or I will have to report you," wheezed the ghost.) and jumped up from his seat. His father send him a letter. What did that old bastard want now? 

Draco slammed the door to his room open to find his father staring down distastefully at the piece of paper clutched in his hand. Draco took a peek at what his father held and stifled a groan. 

"So I spend my galleons to reserve for you your own private room, and this is how you repay my graciousness?" Lucius asked maliciously. "With near-fail essays in _Transfiguration_?!" 

Draco snatched the paper away from his father's grasp. "If you haven't noticed, that's the NEWT class for Transfiguration. And McGonagall hates Slytherins, me most of all. Besides, I keep above the eighty percentile rank so what's the big problem?" 

"The problem is, Draco Malfoy, that you are to be the heir to the Malfoy fortune and you are failing nearly every class that does not hold your interest, which is I daresay seven out of nine classes." 

Draco shrugged, annoyed. He hated it when his father meddled in his business. "So I wasn't born as a bookworm. Is that what you wanted to speak to me about?" 

"Don't be ridiculous, Draco. If I had wanted to do that, I would have sent a howler." 

Draco grimaced, wondering whether his father truly would do something as atrocious as that. 

"But I have come to tell you something serious, Draco. Something very serious. It regards these hideous mudbloods in this school." 

"What?" Draco blurted out, surprised. Mudbloods? What the hell did his father want with them? 

"Something is going to happen, Draco," said Lucius, clasping his hands behind his back and staring out the window. The dawning sun flushed his features. "Something very _exciting_. We'll see our dream, the dream of all of the Dark Lord's supporters, come true in small proportions in this little school." 

Draco looked away and said quietly, "What dream is that?" 

Lucius glanced at his son, a small flicker of insane amusement glimmering in his pale eyes. "Why, to rid the world of all the mudbloods, of course. And to see all those who support those filthy animals struck down at their own game." 

Draco's throat suddenly felt dry. All mudbloods? "What will happen to them? The mudbloods, I mean," he asked hoarsely. 

Lucius shook his head. "Ah, I can not reveal anything that might disturb all of this careful planning. But do not be surprised if one is found dead the next morning." Lucius chuckled at the thought then whirled around to face his son. Draco forced a small smile onto his face and clenched his fists. It was the only way to keep his hands from shaking so much. 

"And imagine," Lucius continued silkily, "what will happen if one of this precious school's students is found dead. Why, Headmaster Dumbledore will be in quite a predicament, I should say. Especially after he continually ignored the requests and demands from me and the Department of Non-Magic People Security. What a shame, what a shame. And at his old age to boot." 

Draco nodded dumbly, not knowing what else to do. Only one thing raced in his mind right now. Hermione. 

Then Lucius's delighted smile slowly slid off as soon as he straightened his robes and prepared to leave. "I hope that you are fed well here?" he asked Draco, his voice once again clipped and professional. 

Draco nodded. 

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "And I expect you to stop procrastinating all the time. You are still a student and a Malfoy. Malfoys do not fail in anything, do you understand?" 

Nod. 

"Good. When progress reports come home, I expect to see nothing below 'Acceptable.'" 

Draco opened his mouth to protest, saying that was a rather unfair request but Lucius silenced him with a piercing glare. "Fine," Draco mumbled. 

Then Lucius exited without so much as a farewell. Draco stood in his room for a few moments, trying to absorb what his father had said and wondering why he felt such shock with this news. So. Somehow Voldemort had been able to infiltrate through Hogwarts after all. Draco ran his hand thorough his hair, trying to calm his racing heart. Why did he give a flying fuck whether the mudbloods were struck down or not? Actually, he welcomed the prospect. But if he did, why did he suddenly feel so nauseous, so sick? 

Because Hermione was one of them. 

Without a second thought, Draco bolted from his room, all thoughts of breakfast fleeing. He wasn't hungry. And the prospect of eating made him want to hurl. He had to find her. He had to find her and warn her. 

_Why am I doing this?_ he demanded. _WHY?_

He closed his eyes for a few moments, trying to rid the image of Hermione with her hand held out to him -- how she told him that he should accompany her. But no matter how hard he tried, that episode would not fade from his mind. And he felt that it never would. 

**

-x-x-

**

Hermione had been wandering the hall to the library alone for a few minutes, trying to clear her head. Though she hated waking up, she loved the silence that the morning and an abandoned corridor offered. But still no matter how hard she tried to push away her thoughts, they would not leave. Prominently the one regarding that explicit dream. If she closed her eyes, she could still almost feel his lips caressing her most sensitive spots. She could almost smell his scent. She could almost hear him moaning her name. 

Which was why she tried her damnedest not to even blink. 

She stared at her watch, noting with a small sigh that classes began in half an hour. Today was one of the few days that she did not want to attend classes. Actually, today was special. Today, she felt the intense urge to go back to her room and sleep the day away, to skip all of her classes, in hopes that the man in her dreams (be he Draco or not) would accompany her. 

Though Hermione hated admitting it, she found the presence of that man so comforting, so satisfying. The memory of him physically was crystal clear. She could close her eyes and remember the smoothness of his skin and the awesome climax that they had reached together. She could hear his laugh, his moans, his whispers of love. But emotionally, she felt as cold as a dead fish. She felt so much love when she was with him, such awesome love that she had never felt before. Waking up was like being thrown into an ice-cold pond and being unable to swim back out. She felt nothing, she felt none of that intense passion or his complete adoration towards her. And she felt as if she were slowly suffocating without it. 

Hermione continued walking and stared at the cold stone floor underneath her, wondering what her odds at being with Draco Malfoy were. She hated acting like such a love-sick teenager, but she couldn't help it. The image of his face kept rising in her mind. Surely if he occupied her mind so much, she felt _something_ for him, some sort of emotion. She just didn't know how deep that feeling was. 

She sighed as she rounded a dark corner and emerged into a dark hallway that she recognized as leading to the Slytherin dorms. 

How could he, though? Did he love women so much that he'd let Pansy Parkinson hang all around him like she was his girl friend or something? A surge of envy pounded through Hermione, causing her eyes to narrow into angry slits. 

Just then, Hermione gasped, feeling an arm snake around her waist. Before she could cry out, another hand covered her mouth. She struggled against the attacker's grip, finding it surprisingly strong. But when she heard his voice, her screams caught in her throat. 

**X**

"Shut up, Granger," Draco hissed in her ear. She stopped struggling almost immediately then took up her fray again. Draco was amused by this. 

Quickly, before anyone else could see what he was doing, Draco carted Hermione off into one of the random vacant rooms where he and his friends met in his early Hogwarts years, plotting the next biggest Hogwarts scandal that would rock the school. Now, those earlier haunts remained empty, for his friends were now his rivals in power. All of them. They no longer plotted together -- they plotted _against_ each other. 

As soon as he kicked the door behind him, Draco released Hermione. She stumbled, uttered a girlish shriek, then whirled on him. She glared, her chest rising dramatically as she huffed. "Why did you _do_ that?" she demanded. 

"I needed to talk to you," Draco answered with a small smirk tugged at the end of his lips. Despite how dire the situation was, Hermione never ceased to make him want to laugh at her girlishness. 

She scowled, straightening out the wrinkles in her shirt. "There's a thing called an owl post," she answered dryly. "You see, first you write a message then send it off with a owl to the person you want to speak with. Abducting people in dark hallways is certainly not the way." 

"I just though that this approach might be better -- more exciting. Your life is so dull -- I thought a bit of intrigue would spice it up," he answered. 

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, thought about it, then grit her teeth. "So. Talk. I don't have all day." 

Draco blinked at her cold tone, watching her walk up stiffly to an ancient mirror and wipe off a line of dust with her fore finger. What was she so upset about? 

"So," he stared casually, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "What's your problem this morning?" 

She whirled on him so quickly that her hair flew up behind her. What he saw in Hermione's expression shocked him: anger, hurt, hate . . . 

"Stop playing your stupid games and tell me what you want, _Malfoy_." She hissed out his name like a curse word. 

At first, Draco wanted to pull Hermione to his chest and stroke her cheek to soothe out whatever ill feelings she reserved for him. But the old Malfoy indifference won over his foreign instincts quickly and strikingly. His pale eyes lost their twinkles of humor and quickly hardened. 

"Well, I suppose you don't care that I am trying to keep you alive, then," he answered in a clipped tone that shockingly resembled his father's. 

Curiosity lit Hermione's face. Then in a blink, the charming look of inquisition fled her features. She said nothing -- she merely stared at Draco with her lips pursed. 

"You need to go home, Granger, do you hear me? You need to go home." 

This time, shock shattered her previously impassive facade. "Home?" she echoed. "Are you mad? This is my seventh year! I'm head girl! I can't go home. What is the matter, for heaven's sake?" 

For a second, Draco considered lying to her -- something he did very well. But as soon as he opened his mouth, he couldn't get the words out. He couldn't lie to her, and it aggravated him. "I can't tell you," he finally muttered lamely. 

Hermione blinked. Then her lips curled in a nasty smile totally uncharacteristic of her. 

"Damn it, something is going to happen!" Draco cried, twirling around with exasperation. How could he get through to her?! "Something bad. You need to get out of here. I -- I don't want it to happen to you." 

Hermione's eyes narrowed. She shook her head slightly. "Me? You don't want it to get _me_?" The twisted hurt and anger on her face betrayed the cool facade that she tried to express. Her eyes glittered. Draco turned away, unable to face her. 

Her voice shook. "Mudbloods." 

Her voice was a whisper, so soft that he could have missed it if he hadn't been listening. But he jerked as if someone punched him. 

"Why can't you and your friends leave us be?" Hermione asked quietly, her voice flat and cold. 

"Granger . . ." Draco began desperately. Under normal circumstances, he would have hated hearing the pleading in his voice. Now, he hated how coldly she looked at him. "Please. You must go. I don't want to you . . . involved in what will happen here." 

"Why?" she demanded, her voice tremoring. "I must be the muddiest, the dirtiest of all mudbloods. Why am I the one you came to?" 

Without a second thought, Draco walked up to her and kissed her firmly on her red lips, wishing with all of his heart that she would just shut up with the mudblood comments, wishing that she would just listen to him, wishing that he did not have to tell her to go home. His heart pounded in his ears as she struggled weakly against his hold. 

Then, as quickly as he had come onto her, he stepped back, horrified yet mildly pleased at what he had done. Hermione panted, her face aflame with her embarrassment. She touched her swollen red lips, and Draco felt the familiar desire bubble in him with that little gesture. 

"Why . . . why are you doing this?" she whispered, agonized. "Darn it, Draco Malfoy, what do you want from me?" 

Draco grabbed a hold of her arms so quickly that she gasped. He squeezed her arms so that she squirmed, just barely crying out in pain. "You get out of this place, do you hear me? You have to leave." Draco, seeing that Hermione was on the verge of asking why once more, kissed her quickly on the lips again. She gasped for air when he parted, and her eyes blazed when she stared at him. 

"Stop it!" she sputtered. 

Despite himself, Draco felt a small smile curl onto his lips. "Stop what?" Then he quickly pecked her on the lips again. 

"_THAT_." 

He smirked and backed away. She stared at him as if he had grown two heads. Then she scowled. 

"You think you're pretty slick, don't you?" she asked angrily. 

Draco was about answer that he did consider himself slick but bit his tongue. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and said, "Why do you ask?" 

Hermione opened her mouth but then closed it again. She looked towards the door, frown lines deeper than ever. Draco wondered what he had done. 

"You truly are something, you know," Hermione began again. "To play with one girl then move to the next without a second thought." 

Draco rubbed his face wearily. Girls and their vague complaints. "What the hell are you talking about?" 

Hermione opened her mouth, but yet again, no sound came out. She stopped, perhaps wondering how she could phrase what was bothering her. Then she shook her head in disgust. "Never mind. Just forget it." 

Draco was annoyed by this. What the hell was wrong with her today? He asked her so. 

"_You_ are the matter with me, Malfoy. You and your stupid games. Pretending that you're attracted to me then letting Pansy hang all over you, abducting me in the hallway, kissing me like . . . like . . . some sort of . . . " Hermione paused, trying to find the word to describe his insufferable cockiness, his arrogance. 

"Some sort of what?" Draco challenged. Then he felt the last flame of anger die away when the realization struck him. "You're jealous!" he said incredulously. 

Hermione blinked. Confusion washed over her face. "What?" 

Draco grinned. "You're jealous of the other girls that I pay attention to." He laughed for a brief moment. "I didn't know I meant so much to you." 

Hermione face flushed scarlet once more. "Are you mad? Why would I be jealous of them? Wishful thinking, Malfoy." 

He walked around her, trying desperately to provoke her. "I suppose you won't mind if I take Pansy to the ball then, hm? Oh, come now, Granger. Admit it: you like me and you feel helpless because I am very attractive to other girls, first of all, and second, you hate being attracted to me. But, of course, you can't help it because who wouldn't want me?" 

"Why would I like a self-absorbed jerk like you?" she exploded. 

"I don't know," he admitted. "I suppose I have some sort of charisma that appeals to you." 

Hermione rolled her eyes and walked towards the door, muttering vaguely about charisma and Draco's lack thereof. 

"Granger," Draco started again, walking towards her. "Where are you going?" 

She looked over her shoulder and glared. "Away from you and your stupid games." 

But before she could walk out, Draco appeared in front of her and slammed the door back shut. She clenched her fists, and Draco wondered whether she had enough gall to sock him one. 

"You're not going anywhere, Granger, until you hear me out," he said quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder. 

Hermione shrugged his hand off. "I heard you clearly. You want me to leave Hogwarts. I stoutly refused. Now move." 

Draco glared. In a split second, he grasped Hermione's shoulders and pushed her back down none too gently onto a couch. She landed on the cushion with a _WHOOSH_ and thousands of specks of dust flew up around Hermione's face. She gasped, unbelieving of his attitude, and tried to stand back up. Draco was there more quickly and pushed her down onto the couch until she found her head lying on top of the ancient cushions. Draco's angry face loomed over hers. 

Hermione's eyes widened. Draco twisted the fabric of Hermione's shirt, not knowing whether he should slap her or kiss her. A few tentative moments of silence passed until Hermione smiled mockingly and asked, "So this is how you are going make me go home? By holding me down on this musty couch until I agree to leave?" 

Draco found himself unable to answer. He had just acted like a fool! Damn, did he want to slap that smile off of her face. His hands trembled. "Don't cross me, Granger," he spat out. Hermione tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. This only enraged him more. 

"FUCK IT, Granger!" he yelled and pushed himself off of her. He started pacing the room. "Fuck this whole thing. Stupid, fucking - why the hell won't you listen to me?!" 

Hermione sat up, her eyes wide. Her breathing was labored. "Why are you like this? You're acting like a child." 

"Fuck you and your fucking smart-ass observations! I don't want to hear them!" he roared. 

She stared at him as if he had slapped her. Draco tore his eyes off of her. He was too angry to regret what he had just said. He continued pacing the room like an angry lion. How could he tell her? How could he tell her that she needed to go home, that he cared about her safety so much that he was willing to do anything to keep her from harm -- do anything, even act like a fool, as he was already doing now? 

"I don't have to take this," she said quietly, getting up and brushing the dust off of her skirt. Her hands shook. 

"Damn it, Granger, you _are_ going to take this!" Draco yelled. He stood his ground and faced her, his eyes blazing with anger and determination. "You are going to go home. You are going to go back to your fucking house and you are going to stay there until this all blows over. Do you understand me?" 

"Shut up!" Hermione screamed back. "Just shut up, and leave me alone! I don't care what you want me to do, you got that? Why won't you _leave me alone_?!" 

"Because I care about you, that's why!" he bellowed before he could register what he was saying. 

Hermione gasped, her eyes widening. Her hands made her way up to cover her mouth. Draco blinked, suddenly feeling a bit dizzy. Now why the hell did he have to go and say that? He furrowed his brows and rubbed his face wearily with his hands. Oh, god, how could he ever . . . how could he have said . . . oh, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

"Fine. You don't give a damn whether you die or not," he said finally. His voice was deflated, lacking the passion and fire from before. He moved to the side and held out a hand towards the door. "Get out, then. Get out. Go study. Go eat your breakfast. Enjoy school." 

Hermione didn't move. She merely stared at him, her eyes wide, unable to speak. 

"What the hell are you waiting for, Granger? You don't care. Go," Draco spat. 

Hermione took a step towards the door. Draco's heart fell. Even after all of this, she was going to ignore him. She took another step and another. Even second that passed seemed like a decade to Draco. He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering how these affections had blossomed. God, he was perfectly happy the way he was before, back when he hated her with a passion and when he could sleep with any girl without feeling guilt towards a certain brunette. And now, with him proclaimed as Voldemort's heir, he had to start falling in love with a muggle-born, of all people? Life just wasn't fair. 

"Is it true?" 

Draco opened his eyes and saw Hermione standing in front of him, facing the door. She stared down at the ground. 

"Is what true?" he muttered. 

She turned her head to face him, her brown eyes glittering with . . . something. Draco felt his heart catch in his throat. Why did she have to look at him like that? 

"What you said. About . . . you . . . caring. Is it true, Draco Malfoy?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. 

"I -- I don't know . . . " he replied throatily, unable to take his eyes off of her. She stared back down at the ground with a small frown. It surprised him that what he said wasn't the answer that she was looking for. "I really don't know, Granger." 

She stood there for a few more seconds in pondering silence. Draco felt as if his heart would burst. It was pounding so quickly. His fingers tingled with the desire to touch her. How he wanted to stroke her skin and breathe in her scent. How he wanted to tell her that what he said was what he felt. How he wanted to embrace her. His body ached with his unfulfilled desire. 

Hermione stared at him again. Draco took in a sharp breath, trying not to stumble back. He was barely able to hold himself back from taking her to his chest and lying with her on that dirty couch. Images of him whispering in her ear haunted him. Memories of her moans crashed against his heart like a tsunami. He was dying as he stood next to her so closely that he could catch the faint scent of vanilla but being unable to touch her. 

"Thank you," she whispered. 

Draco blinked. "What?" he asked hoarsely. 

Hermione settled her hand upon his shoulder gently. Draco felt the breath squelch in his chest. What was she doing? Then, he caught the aroma of vanilla as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned in. His eyes widened as hers slowly closed. Draco stood, unable to move. He felt as if he were paralyzed from the neck down. 

Then, she tilted her head and kissed him softly. Draco felt as if a raging current of fire had broken free inside of him. He slowly trailed his hand up from her back to the base of her neck, his skin burning with the desire to grab her and shove her against him. But no, she wouldn't like that. And Draco wanted to please her. 

He applied just a bit of pressure to her neck so that they were able to deepen the kiss. His stomach fluttered. His heart hammered. Neurons inside of his head shot shocks of desire throughout his body. Then, masterfully, he began to coax Hermione's lips open. She complied hesitantly and Draco gently slid in his tongue to explore the sweet caverns of her mouth. 

He closed his eyes as she leaned her soft body against his. Heaven. He was in heaven. With shaking hands, he stroked Hermione's hair, twining his fingers through her soft locks. Goose bumps ran down his body as Hermione stroked his cheek. Their tongues danced in an elegant waltz of affection. 

Then he felt Hermione push gently away from him. 

Though disappointed, Draco complied. He stroked her hair one last time before loosening the silky locks from between his fingers. He withdrew his tongue and playfully licked her lips. The pressure of his hand upon her neck lightened until he slid it back down onto her waist. Then he pulled his lips from hers but did not back away completely. He pressed his forehead against hers, breathing heavily with mounting desire and affection. 

"Why did you do that?" he asked huskily, still breathless from that kiss. 

She did not answer. She too was panting. Her lashes fluttered as she looked up at him. "I don't know. I just wanted to, I suppose." 

Draco smiled gently at her. He tucked in a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. 

"You're not disappointed, are you, that I did that?" she asked hesitantly. Draco could feel her body tensing. 

"Maybe," he replied, his smile broadening. 

They did not speak for the next minute. Then Draco, unable to take the silence anymore, pecked her on the lips sensually -- his invitation to resume what they had started moments before. Hermione shook her head and pulled herself away from him. 

"I still can't leave, you know," she said quietly. 

Draco's smile slid off. He backed away from her as well. "So were you trying to buy your refusal with that kiss?" he asked wearily. He felt that dizziness again. 

But Hermione protested. "No! Of course not. I would never. You know I would never." 

Draco scrutinized her face, now a few feet away from her. Would she coax him with a kisses to have her way? No. She had her chance to go. She stayed for him. At least, that was what Draco would have liked to think. He did not answer. He merely stared at her. Hermione's face twisted with her anguish. 

She stepped up towards him. For a moment, Draco thought (well, he rather hoped) that she would start kissing him again. But she didn't. Instead, she leaned in under his ear and whispered, "I think I've grown rather fond of you as well." 

It took a few moments for the words to register in Draco's brain. But by the time he could completely understand what she had said, Hermione was already out the door. 

Now, alone in this room, Draco allowed himself to submit to his weakness. His knees shook, and he all but collapsed down onto the couch where he had pushed Hermione onto earlier. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples, vaguely aware that he had classes but not really giving a damn. 

So. He truly did care for her, was falling in love with her. And she knew it too. Draco was confused. Was that a good thing or a bad thing, her knowing this? Well, it took a load off of his chest to have to her and himself know. He wouldn't have to convince himself that whenever he felt the desire to kiss her, it was his hormones. But, on the other hand, he was Voldemort's heir. The his fucking _HEIR_, for crying out loud! Draco swore loudly. WHY? 

He rolled over, brushing away the spots of dust on the couch. He still wanted her. He felt a pull to that girl like none he had ever felt before. 

But he was Voldemort's HEIR. 

Draco moaned and covered his eyes with his arm. "It's not fair," he muttered. "Why couldn't she have been a pureblood? Everything would be perfect then. God damn it, why? Hermione Granger. How would this ever work out between us?" 

Then Draco sat up with the sudden realization that no, things would never work out between them. Hermione was muggle-born. He was the destined heir to the greatest hater of all muggle-borns. Draco felt cold inside. So. Things were impossible. He shook his head. He couldn't believe that. Nothing was impossible. But that nagging little voice in the back of his head insisted that yes, it was impossible. That the Slytherin prince and the Gryffindor martyr would never be able to work out. 

Draco swung his legs, stood up, and punched the nearby wall. He panted, gripping his hair. He hated how this all turned out. Why the hell did he have to fall in love with her of all of the billions of available girls in the world? 

Draco felt the dizziness rise up in him again. He wanted to throw up as soon as the thought entered into his head: he had to distance herself from her. He had to drive her away to keep his sanity and his future ambitions in tact. He would be the most feared and respected wizard in the world. He would hate all mudbloods. He would get over this silly, school-boy infatuation. That was the only way he could go on living. He had rejected all warmth and love and affection from all women except that of his mother (and she offered very little and he accepted very little to begin with) and had continued living the way he wanted. What was the big deal with Hermione? 

Draco walked back into his room and dug in deeply in his chest. This chest held all of this most private, most valuable things. He grinned grimly when his fingers closed around a small metal casket. Ah yes, Dragon Fluid, the powerfully potent drink that his father had given him. He uncorked the casket and breathed in the powerfully brewed fumes of the beverage. 

He took a little sip, cringed a bit at the intense bitterness, then prepared to drown the whole casket until he spotted that letter from Marie. Draco closed the casket and read the ridiculous thing over. Then he wrote back, accepting her invitation. If he was to pull himself away from Hermione, he had to begin now. 

But as he watched his owl fly away with the letter to Bulgaria, he felt the shittiest he had ever felt. He needed relief, even if temporarily. He uncorked the Dragon Fluid again, swirled the liquid around, and took a deep swig. The drink burned its way down his throat like acid, but Draco didn't care. He couldn't even taste it for Hermione's face and her smile had just bubbled up in his mind. He grinned sardonically and held the casket up. 

"To you, you stupid mudblood," he slurred, the drink already beginning to affect his mind. "I'm sorry for what I will do to you. But know this: I wish I could love you." 

And with that toast in mind, Draco drowned his anger and sorrow in the illegal drink that Voldemort had so zealously hoarded. 

.

* * *

**End Notes**: Next chapter is the Yule Ball! YES! :) I know you've all been waiting for that. But I bet that you won't be expecting the twist. By the way, please review! And thank you, everyone. I am amazed at your patience and will regarding updates on this story. It's a long project, and it's difficult to complete. But I am working on it. Thanks again, everyone, for your undying support and love! 


	17. Like Being in Limbo

**

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 17: Like Being in Limbo   
By Callisto Callispi 

**Disclaimers**: I give up on these things. From the next chapter on, no more disclaimers because I obviously don't own Harry Potter. :p 

**Author's Note**: Quick update, eh? Wrote this in two days thanks to fireworks of inspiration! Ehh...I hate formatting for fanfiction dot net. No more asterisks! :( 

__

You read my eyes just like your diary,   
Remember, please remember,   
Well, I'm not a beggar, but what's more   
Is if I hurt you, then I hate myself, I don't wanna hate myself, don't wanna hurt you   
Why do you choose that pain?   
If you only knew how much I love you 

"Your Winter" by Sister Hazel 

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* * *

. 

**12 Days Until the Yule Ball**

Hermione had thought that they were truly more than friends. She had thought that she had sealed that hesitant confirmation with her kiss. But when she faced Draco again at detention that evening, she was once again proven wrong. 

"Do you need help with that?" she asked him quietly in the darkness of the slimy underground chambers of the school. Draco was struggling with a particularly stubborn goop of slime that seemed ready to rear up from the ground and attack him. Draco took out his wand and did not answer her. 

Hermione stared at him for a few moments in silence, wondering why he was suddenly so cold. Right before Filch had entered the room at the beginning of their detention, Draco didn't even offer her a smile or a simple "hello." Did he feel awkward about professing his care for her? Hermione looked away as Draco stared coldly at her. Yes. That had to be it. Awkwardness. 

She was convinced that until he could fully absorb his feelings for her, he would be like this. And when he did resolve whatever was going on in that head of his, he would come back to her. Hermione decided to leave him to himself until then. 

However, even after a few days passed, Draco still refused to utter a word towards Hermione and grew continually colder. At times, Hermione could not bear standing next to him for she felt as if she were facing the cold of a bitter winter alone and without the warmth of a certain somebody that had occupied her mind for the last month. 

"How are you?" Hermione once inquired when the silence stretched unbearably between them. 

They were in the library again, looking into microscope-like instruments used to count the specks of a rare sugar-textured powder for a potion. It was for Professor Snape's class and they had to make sure that exactly one hundred grains were gathered in the tiny bags for the student's use. How low they have fallen, counting specks of dust. 

Draco shrugged as he stared into the microscope and replied nonchalantly, "All right." 

Hermione didn't not know what to say. How she desired to speak with him...even argue until her throat became sore. If only he would look at her, at least. Just stare and then smirk as he usually did. She stole shy glances at him when he wasn't looking from across the vast table, trying to quell the desire to sit next to him and lean against his shoulder. 

Then, unexpectedly, Draco looked up from his work and glared angrily at Hermione. "Why the hell aren't you contributing? At this rate, we'll be stuck here until noon tomorrow." 

Hermione stared, shocked, at Draco. He shook his head with disgust and stared down into the microscope. Then Hermione glanced down at the small pile of sugary grains guiltily, wondering how she had let her thoughts wander. 

"Sorry," she whispered and began her work. 

From across the table, Draco jerked as if he had been slapped. His hands clenched into fists as he forced himself to remain still and keep his thoughts from straying towards Hermione. He had to maintain the cold, hateful facade. He had to make her see that he found her mere presence annoying. He had to make her feel that he did not want to bring her close to him and kiss her softly. No, he had to tear them apart, even if his very soul cried out with unimaginable pain. 

But he was doing a good job. Hermione's heart ached. And he could feel it ache as well. He stifled down a sob as he tore his eyes away from Hermione. She did not even notice that he had been staring at her. 

**-x-x-**   


**9 Days Until the Yule Ball**

"You look so sick, Hermione!" Harry cried when he saw her the next day. 

Hermione stifled a dry laugh as she stared at Harry's bed-ridden form. Her? Sick? He was the one to talk. His "mild" flu had not been mild and at all and earlier, he had been sent to the hospital wing. Hermione got out of lunch hour early to pay her ill friend a visit. 

"Do I? I suppose it's because I'm not getting enough sleep." 

Harry was about to open his mouth to ask why but restrained himself. He took off his glasses, rubbed the lens clean, then settle it back down onto the bridge of his nose. "Detention, huh?" 

Hermione shrugged. 

"How much longer?" 

"Three more days." Hermione sighed and rubbed her face. "I am so relieved. Now I can put everything that has been happening behind me, you know? I just wish it would end more quickly." But she bit her lip, trying to keep it from trembling. Did she really want to leave everything behind? No, she didn't. Not everything. Not Draco. Dear God, why wouldn't he talk to her? 

"Well, it's all for the best. You look dead on your feet." Harry attempted a small grin. "Are you sure it's because of a lack of sleep? You look like you've gotten below ninety-five percent on a test." 

But Hermione did not share in his amusement. She stared dismally out the window and into the gray winter sky, wishing that the gray that she stared at were Draco's eyes. "There are more important things than tests, Harry." 

The grin slid off of Harry's face. "What?" 

Hermione shook her head and held her breath. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But not in front of Harry. 

But her self control fled when she felt Harry's hand clasp over hers. She stared down at her friend, unshed tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes. Harry's green eyes widened. 

"What's wrong?" 

Hermione gave Harry's hand a small squeeze before pulling away. She looked away, biting her lips so as to keep her tears in. She barely succeeded, as the stress and confusion that she kept bottled in her heart began to pour out in oceans. Hermione turned her back to Harry and gripped her forehead with a hand, trying to force the sobs down her throat. 

The blankets rustled. "Hermione..." 

Hermione clenched her teeth then shook her head. Harry remained in his bed. 

"I-I'm sorry...Harry." 

"For what?" 

She struggled to maintain control of her shaking voice. "You-you're sick. I shouldn't have come and..." 

"Oh, Hermione, for someone so smart, you can be dumb sometimes." 

She felt the tears that she managed to keep down flood her eyes again. _You're right, Harry. If I were smarter, I would have been able to keep him. Why am I so stupid?_

"I don't mind at all. Just...don't keep crying by yourself. Tell me what's wrong. Or do so when you are ready to talk. Just don't cry by yourself." Harry's eyes behind her lowered. "Loneliness isn't the best companion." 

She nodded, unable to speak. _I don't want to be lonely. I want Draco with me. God, I don't want to be lonely._

They remained in silence. Hermione wiped the few droplets of tears that escaped her eyes with a small gesture of her hand. She stared at her reflection in the window, wondering desperately if there were spots of red on her face. She couldn't tell. God, her heart hurt. 

"Harry, please do me a favor." 

"Anything." 

Hermione turned around slowly to grab her bags and books. She could feel Harry's eyes scrutinizing her every move, trying to piece what was wrong with her. "Please don't tell Ron...what happened here." 

Harry's dark eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Does this have to do with him?" 

Hermione shook her head. "No." 

Harry hesitated. A brief look flashed in his eyes. He was wondering over the validity of her answer. Finally, he nodded his head. "All right. It's our secret." 

She stared out the window again and stared at the stormy gray clouds. Her whole insides felt numb. "Thanks," she said softly then exited. "Feel better, Harry..." she said as she closed the door. 

Hermione just barely managed to catch Harry's reply: "Yeah. You too, Hermione..." 

**X**

Draco leaned against a random wall in a shadowed corridor, his face in his hands. He felt like collapsing from sheer exhaustion. Too much to drink in too little time. His head spun like mad. God, he was surprised that he was even able to nibble on something for lunch after that drunken fest last evening. 

And, despite the hazy stupor in his mind after that wonderfully toxic casket of Dragon Fluid that he got from Blaise, the image of her face became clearer and brighter in his mind. No amount of Dragon Fluid could erase the memory of her laugh and the sensation of her lips against his. 

_"You look the fool like that, Malfoy. Go to sleep. Here, let me take you to your room."_

He looked up to find a smile that he remembered in his sweetest dreams. She held out her hand to him, looking almost like an angel, glowing in an ethereal white light. Was she real? Was she there? Or was this the side effects of Dragon Fluid? 

He stared at her in wonderment as she walked closer to him, her voice whispering in mind like a lost lullaby. 

_"Draco,"_ she seemed to say. _"I miss you."_

He felt something gather in his throat. "I miss you too," he whispered hoarsely. "God, I want you." 

But then, just as he reached out to touch her, she disappeared. He stood there with his arm outstretched, his face twisted in hurt and horror. The pain shooting through his body barely allowed him to stand. And this pain originated from his heart, not the wretched mark on his back. 

Dragon Fluid. Too much. Now he was hallucinating. He gripped his head again, his hair wild and spiked from vicious tugging as his mind spun from the Fluid's after effects and the vision of Hermione's smile. Maybe he should have stopped his zealous drinking after Hermione's last kiss. But he kept drinking and swearing for the next three days, trying to rid the accursed smile of hers from his mind. He had resorted to turning to Blaise and hitting him up for the Fluid. 

He smirked hollowly, recalling the shocked look on Blaise's face when he demanded if he had the fluid. 

"Eh? Dragon Fluid? What the fuck's the matter with you?" Blaise inquired calmly despite his words. 

"Just stress," Draco replied wearily. 

"It's not the best thing to bathe yourself in." 

"Cut the moral crap. Do you have any or not?" 

Blaise shrugged nonchalantly. "I am one of the few who does. You owe me though." 

Hell if he owed Blaise anything. 

Draco felt as he were about to hurl. He gripped his throat and swallowed down whatever was coming back up. He then moaned raggedly and held onto the wall. God, he had to stop drinking. He wasn't like Crabbe who drank anything down like water. Or Blaise who preferred not to drink at all. 

Shit. He rubbed his eyes and struggled to maintain his composure as he walked to the infirmary. He needed some sort of potion to clear away this haziness. And dull this damn stabbing ache in his head. 

Shadows danced around him like haunted specters as he stumbled through the darkened corridors. Draco closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again to find himself #upon the brink of grief's abysmal valley. His feet kept moving in this tumbled wasteland that his mind illustrated, taking one step at a time deeper into this forest of darkness. And while he walked, he choked back tears of loneliness and pain. He hurt so badly...something deep inside and not from the Dragon Fluid. He felt as if his soul was being slowly starved to death. 

He kept his bleary gaze down at the dull red carpet below him, trying not to hurl his sparse lunch of a single carrot and a spoonful of chicken noodle soup. Flickers of candle light jumped and pranced along the dusty wooden walls with demonic livelihood. Charcoal storm clouds offered no relief from this crestfallen darkness. 

Light. Oh, how he wished for light -- the bright, white, heavenly light that always seemed to engulf him whenever Hermione had been near him. 

"Help me," he whispered to no one as he looked up into the fading blackness of the high ceiling. 

But then, Draco felt something pulling him through his hallway. His pace quickened as he ran towards the infirmary. Why? Why did he suddenly feel the rush to arrive up at the hospital wing? Draco reached the staircase and bounded up three stairs at a time with this new, unbidden energy. Why? 

He speedily walked through the hallways, nearly running in this new madness that gripped his brain. He heard a howl of torment in his ears. Draco breathed raspily. No, he didn't hear that howl. He **felt** it. Was that his own voice? 

The crescendo of his pace rose and rose, like a crazed pianist rushing to complete his masterpiece. _Just one more story until the hospital wing. What will I find? What is waiting for me there?_

He ran until he could feel sweat bead on his forehead. His breaths came in gasps. Why? 

Draco swerved around a sharp corner and arrived at the base of the last staircase leading to the infirmary. Why did he rush? 

And Draco found his answer. 

Complete, utter silence. The hammering stopped. His feet ceased to move, as if they were glued to the floor. He even held his breath as he stood shakily and stared up to where the broad staircase led to like a flared fan. He almost wept; perhaps he did. But Draco felt his face and his cheeks were dry. He swallowed the sob bubbling up his throat. 

Hermione. 

She stood there on the next floor, just right before descending the stairs. She stared down at Draco with wide eyes. He took the smallest step forward then stopped himself. _Coward. Ignore her,_ he mocked himself angrily. 

But he heard that small voice, that meek voice of reason in the back of his head, protesting in a dying whisper: _Just tell her. Just take her in your arms. Arrogant ass. Do you think that doing this to her will protect her? Send her home? You're just hurting yourself and worse...you're hurting her..._

But he couldn't speak, much less move. And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't form the smirk that would have made its way to his lips already so many other times. All he could do was struggle to stand, hoping that this dizziness would not engulf him and make him collapse unceremoniously onto the floor in front of the woman he was beginning to love. 

But as he stared at her face, he wanted to drop to his knees. Her cheeks glistened with tears -- tears, obviously for him. Her whole composure shook like a dying leaf of autumn. _Please forgive me,_ his mind begged. 

But then, she suddenly turned her head and quickly wiped the tears from her face. Draco stared and saw two Ravenclaw first years chattering animatedly and walking down the stairs. The haunting spell of her presence broken, Draco up-rooted his stump-like feet and dragged them up the stairs. Hermione began to walk down the stairs with her casual elegance. 

He stared at the burgundy carpet as he moved up, trying to ignore the feeling of warmth as he approached her. The twittering first years had made their way on through the hall and away from where he and Hermione stood. And as much as he would have liked to stop and stare at her face, he kept ascending as she descended. 

He rudely shoved away the cry of his heart. His fingers tingled with anticipation as he neared her. 

Then, without thinking, as they both met at the middle of the staircase, Draco's arm shot out and grabbed hers, twirling her to him. 

Draco's heart wrenched as he stared upon her face. She was so, so pale. And her eyes. Oh, they were so dull and dark! What were those smudges under her eyes? They looked like bruises. Draco felt anger bubble in his heart. Bruises? He would kill the bastard that -- but no. He knew. She couldn't sleep. Neither could he. And her cheeks. Her once plump cheeks were now pallid and gone, leaving nothing but a layer of skin wrapped around her bones. God, how he changed her. And he hated himself for it. 

Her arm was limp in his grasp. She turned from him quickly. But not before he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. 

_Forgive me, Hermione_ he silently cried. But she didn't return his stare. 

"What are you doing?" she whispered so softly that he almost missed her voice. But he heard. 

Draco, however, could not answer. His hand feebly tightened around her arm again, unwanting to let her go. 

_Just lean into me. Just tell me you miss me. And all of my defenses will fall. Just touch me and tell me that you love me. And I will take you back, damn the consequences. Just embrace me, and I will be yours. Do anything, but please don't speak to me so coldly._

But she didn't do any of those things. Draco fought down his tears of exhaustion. Why in God's name was he doing this? 

"Hermione...I..." 

She slowly turned her head towards him at the sound of her name being spoken. Her eyes seemed to gain a fraction of the sparkle in them when she and he had kissed together for the first time in the library. Draco felt his knees shake. _Just let her go, and this will be over._ But his fingers clamped on harder. 

"I...I'm..." 

_Damn it all, just say that you're not able to love her! Simple as that!_

"I..." 

"Draco..." 

He felt his throat close. She called his name. His very name. How could she make him crumble with just one word? Draco's eyes widened. His mind tried to register the pouding emotions storming in his head. But while his mind was busy, his body responded. He stroked her soft cheek with his hand and kissed her forehead gently. Hermione sighed moved closer to him. 

_What are you doing, Draco? Stop this! Stop this!_

He ignored his own protests and moved his face closer to hers. Her eyes closed, and he watched with slight wonder at how dark her lashes were against her pale face. 

_You stupid fool. You **stupid** fool!_

But he ignored his mind and moved his face closer to hers. Never mind that they were standing in the middle of the staircase where anyone could see them. Never mind that he was to become Voldemort's heir and...and that killing her would be his future ambition. His lips just barely met with hers -- it was the softest kiss that only a butterfly and a passionate lover could give. 

_Yes,_ his inner voice snarled. _Kiss her then kill her. I'm sure would __adore_ you then. Do you think that she'd still love you when you cast the Crutatius curse on her? While you watch her die slowly and painfully? 

The thought froze his blood. Abruptly, Draco let go of Hermione's arm and rushed up the stairs, hating himself and her for putting him through this. 

"Draco!" 

Draco stopped in mid-jump and looked over his shoulder. She still stood there, her books and bag abandoned on the stairs. Her face was twisted, her eyes glistening, her jaw clenched. 

"Why, Draco?" 

His eyes grew cold. She looked as if he stabbed her in the heart with a knife. "Don't call me that." 

She seemed shocked at his words. But still, she did not turn and walk away. No. She froze Draco with her gaze. "Then, **Malfoy**," and Draco struggled not to cringe, "why are you doing this to me?" 

"I'm not doing anything." 

Hermione's hands clenched into fists. How Draco wished to see her angry -- she was so full of spirit and life when she was angry. Especially at him. 

But that anger was short-lived. Her eyes dulled and her hands went limp. She looked fatigued and tired enough to collapse. "Am I not pretty enough? Is that it?" 

"What?" Draco asked, genuinely surprised. 

"Maybe I'm just not pretty enough to satisfy Draco Malfoy's vanity." Her barb would have been a good one if not for the tired, crestfallen tone in her voice. 

Draco shook his head. "It's nothing like that. You know that." 

"Then what is it?" she demanded. "Why do you keep drawing me in then shoving me out? I'm so tired, Draco. So, so tired. Please...make up your mind." 

Draco shook his head again. "No more," he whispered. "No more of this." And he whipped around and ran to the infirmary. And he couldn't help but think of how much of a coward he was. 

**

-x-x-

**

**

5 Days Until the Yule Ball

**

Draco felt like shit. He was just so God damned tired all the time. He couldn't get any sleep at night. He wondered whether broken hearts led to insomnia. Arg! Broken heart? Hell if he had a broken heart! 

But, he had to admit, it hurt him to see Hermione for the last time in detention. Their final night of this detention had been quiet, civilized, and utterly cold. She barely said anything to him and he hardly said anything to her. And when midnight struck, she turned to him, straightened her spine, and faced him with an expression of utter professionalism. 

Then she nodded to him and said without the slightest waver in her voice, "It has been enlightening to work with you." 

And Draco nodded back with equal professionalism (he hoped). 

He laid down in his bed and watched the white snow fall gently down on the frozen Hogwarts grounds. Outside, he saw that oaf, Hagird, mulling about with one demented creature or another. The giant had an idiotic grin on his face. Draco's eyes scanned the surroundings, wondering if Hermione was nearby. 

"Fuck! Stop **thinking** about that...that **mudblood**." 

He turned away from the window and stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he would get some sleep this night. His eyes flickered over to the calendar. Five days until the Yule Ball. Bah. Stupid, cheap-ass, sorry-excuse-for-a-cocktail-party ball. Maybe he would feign sick and just not go. He smirked. And what would sweet Marie say about that? 

His eyes strayed to the snowfall outside. Hoping for a blizzard so that his beautiful escort's arrival was delayed was too much. And besides, the ball was the last school day before holidays. He wouldn't get to see Hermione for a few weeks. 

He covered his face with his hands. Was forgetting her impossible? Yes. It had to be if he kept torturing himself like this. 

He flopped over on his bed and sighed. Just one dance with her would be nice. It would be too much to ask for two. But just one. 

**-x-x-**

**

3 Days Until the Yule Ball

**

Hermione buzzed through her classes with such an enormous amount of efficiency that even Harry and Ron, who had witnessed most of her study-crazed day, were shocked. She grinned far too much, her hands quivered with (or what Harry and Ron hoped was with) suppressed energy, and a skip was present whenever she walked. 

"She's on it. I told you." 

"Eh? She's **snorting**?!" 

"Nah. She's too neat. Probably smokes it." 

"Why is she grinning at me so much?" 

So many whispers surrounded her. And still she didn't **hear** much less **care** about them! Harry and Ron were so suspicious that they forcefully sat her down in the Gryffindor commons and began interrogating her. 

"You don't have to lie to us. Really," Ron insisted as Hermione shot him a one-thousand watt smile. He flinched. 

Harry bent down and collected Hermione face forcefully between his hands. He stared piercingly into her eyes, trying to spot any cloudiness, noting the dark circles under her eyes. "She doesn't seem high..." 

Hermione giggled. "High? Oh, Harry. You think I'm on drugs?" She giggled again and rocked on the chair. 

Harry and Ron shot each other worried glances. 

Her mad giggles followed. "You two boys are so, so, so, so **silly**! Silly, silly." 

"Hermione," Harry said soothingly. "We're only trying to help. We'll still love you if you **are** on drugs." 

"But I'm not!" she wailed. 

Ron nodded. "We're only trying to help." 

"But --" 

Harry turned back to Ron. "Should we take her to Madame Pomfrey?" 

"Oh, stop. You two are --" 

Ron shivered at the thought. "What can we say to her? That Hermione's started to snort? Damn. She'll get into heaps of trouble." 

"Ron --" 

"Eh...you're right. Maybe we should --" 

Hermione stood up so suddenly that Harry almost fell back. Then, she shouted so loudly in her usual patronizing-and-definitely-not-high voice that Harry did fall back onto the floor. "What is **wrong** with you two? I am **not** on drugs!" 

Harry and Ron stared at her form for a few seconds, trying not to wither under her sharp glare. Then Ron spoke up carefully. 

"But 'Mione...why are you so...giddy?" 

"And why did you lose so much weight?" Harry added. "And those dark circles under your eyes." 

Hermione sat back down on the chair, rubbing her temples. The artificial burst of energy had worn itself away, leaving a completely-and-utterly-shitty-feeling Hermione. She might as well have taken a snort or two. 

"Coffee," was her blunt answer. 

The two boys stared at her, their intense gazes demanding an explanation. 

She shrugged. "I guess I'm stressed out lately. No sleep. Almost like insomnia. But I'm sure it'll pass," she said quickly as Harry opened his mouth. "So I just started drinking a lot of coffee in the morning to stay awake. I guess the caffeine really hit me." 

"Hell yeah, it did," Ron muttered. 

Harry's eyes narrowed in concern. "Just...how much sleep are you getting?" 

She smiled thinly. "Virtually none." 

Harry's eyes widened. "How long has this been going on for?" 

_Ever since Draco started ignoring me,_ she thought. "Almost a week now." 

The two boys' jaws dropped. 

"But it's a passing thing," Hermione insisted. When she saw that the two didn't completely believe her, she brazenly added, "And I've gotten this before. During middle school once. Passed in eight days. Afterwards, I slept like a baby." 

Though Harry didn't seem fully convinced, Ron nodded, relief washing over his face. Harry stared at her still, perhaps wondering what he would say next, then sighed. He stood up and ran a hand through his already messy hair. 

"Okay. Whatever you say, Hermione. **But** if you aren't over this in a few days, tell us, all right? Or at least tell your parents." 

She smiled sweetly, feeling guilty beyond all imagination for lying to her closest friends. "All right." 

Ron shrugged to Harry. Harry only stared suspiciously at Hermione. 

**-x-x-**

**1 Day Until the Yule Ball**

Draco received the letter with his dress robes the day before the Yule Ball. He read as his father's sharp penmanship declared Marie's arrival at the Malfoy manor then crumpled the parchment up and tossed it into the fire. Draco rubbed his eyes and yawned. Damn it all. He needed sleep. He smirked wickedly. She did too. He could tell by the dark purple stains underneath her eyes even as she tried to valiantly cover them up with powder. 

He leaned his head back onto the bed and closed his eyes, mulling over the image of her face. How he wanted to sleep! _And,_ Draco thought longingly, _what a sleep I would get with her body next to mine._

Draco had come to accept and relish in the thoughts of her for now. For the thoughts of that girl, Hermione Granger, offered him the only relief from the torrent of thoughts inside his head. When he couldn't sleep, he would close his eyes and imagine her smile. He would wonder for the briefest moments what it would feel like if she lied next to him in this bed. Not unclothed or in a heat of passion...just under the covers with him. He sighed. Well, he'd feel a hell of a lot more peaceful than he did now. 

Which made him wonder: why couldn't he sleep? 

Was it because his dreams were riddled with images of her, her crying, her screaming his name? Draco winced as his heart gave a painful little jolt. God, he missed her. 

**-x-x-**

**Night of the Yule Ball**

Hermione fingered the silk of her gown and stared at herself in the full-length mirror. 

"And doesn't the head girl look beautiful this evening?" a ghost in her mirror cooed. 

Hermione smiled a weary smile and twirled around half-heartedly for show. And despite her disposition, she did admire the reflection that stared back at her, even if her reflection looked fatigued. 

Her curled hair was up with an elegant twist and pinned together with small snowflake barrettes. Whenever she turned her head, those snowflakes glittered like diamonds. Her gown was a prize as well. The brassiere stitched inside the gown lifted her rather small breasts to give them a more full appearance and the multi-layered skirts flared out elegantly at the waist so that it looked as if her stick-like figure had shape. 

She twirled around again, allowing herself a small smile, and watched her triple-layered skirts flow upwards like gentle waves of an arctic sea. The tiny crystal shards imbedded into the black and silver silk glimmered like night-time stars. She sparkled. Even the thin straps were beaded with miniature pieces of platinum and crystal. 

"I am the winter night," she whispered to herself. 

"You are so right, dear!" the mirror said with an appreciative nod. 

"Hermione! Are you dressed yet?" 

Hermione blinked then said loudly, "Yes, I am. Come in, Parvati." 

And with that, the door slammed open. Parvati held in her arms an intimidating array of bottles, brushes, and powders. She paused for a moment, kicked the door shut, and stared at Hermione with admiration. 

"I love your dress!" she breathed. 

Hermione allowed herself a little grin before motioning Parvati to settle the cosmetics onto her bed. 

"You look good too," Hermione replied as she watched Parvati begin to apply some blush onto a brush. Hermione had dared not touch her face with cosmetics. She hardly used any make-up except for lip gloss and was terrified at the dizzying array of multi-shaded eyeshadows. "But isn't that slit a little to...erm..." 

"Too high up?" Parvati asked with a wicked grin as she began to apply the blush on Hermione's face with gentle butterfly strokes. 

"You had better be careful. You don't want it to ride up too much." 

Parvati laughed. "Oh, Hermione, you make me laugh. It's all right. I'm careful with those things. Anyway, I can't let this tan I've gotten over the summer go to complete waste. And my date's going to appreciate it." 

Hermione laughed. Parvati grinned. "Close your eyes. Let me apply some shadow... Honestly, Hermione! I can't believe you don't know how to apply this stuff!" 

Hermione shrugged. "I've never been interested." 

"Yeah. Well probably because you haven't found a man who's caught your eye yet. You see, if there is no one you want to impress, you don't make an effort you make yourself up. No offense. You're naturally pretty without all of this muck. But some of this stuff does help, you know." 

Hermione opened her eyes as Parvati began to apply more concealer under the bottom of her eyes. "Is that true, Parvati?" 

She stared at Hermione. "What? That you're pretty? Of course. You're one of the prettiest girls in --" 

"No, no. I mean if you want to impress someone...you wear make-up and...you know, look...prettier." 

Parvati stared at her suspiciously as she took out the mascara and instructed Hermione to look up. "Why? Do you like someone?" 

Hermione could feel her face flush weakly. "I -- I'm just wondering. It's...never mind. I just --" 

"No," Parvati interrupted. "I mean, I just make myself up because it's what I do. But I suppose if a guy really liked you, he wouldn't care how you looked. And that he'd love you for yourself. Anyways, that's what I'd like to think. Look up please." 

Hermione obeyed. "And...and if someone did truly like you, do you think that he'd -- he'd ignore the girl that he liked? For some particular reason? I mean, if this guy truly liked this girl, would there be any reason for him to ignore her? I mean, I can tell that he's restraining himself. Really. And --" 

Parvati stared at Hermione, wonderstruck. "You **do** have someone!" 

Hermione shook her head. "No. I'm just curious. Really. Oh, just please answer the question, Parvati. You know much more about this than I do." 

"Why is he ignoring you?" 

Hermione felt the warmth around her eyes -- a warning before the tears would well up in her eyes and ruin the painstaking appliance of powder and mascara. "I don't know. But I can tell that he wants to be with me. Why is he doing this?" 

Parvati hesitated. She rubbed a bit of body glimmer on Hermione's bare arm. "Maybe...he's afraid something might happen to you if he remains close to you." 

Hermione's eyes widened. "But that's ridiculous! Nothing would happen to me." 

Parvati shook her head. She took out a lip brush and applied rouge onto Hermione's lips. "Not in his mind. Does he keep secrets?" 

Hermione thought about Draco's cold eyes. Yes. He kept secrets. Many. 

"A man's mind is complicated, Hermione. They keep too many things to themselves. Even their true feelings. And they act foolishly, even if they are hurting their loved ones. Trust me. I've had quite a few nasty break-ups because of this. There was this one guy. He was really tall and handsome, right? But he kept --" Parvati paused. "But you don't want to hear about that. Sorry. Anyway, just give him time. Back off a bit. But be pretty about it. Don't bitch at him. Just smile a bit, back off, but look irresistible while you are doing it." 

Hermione grinned. Parvati scolded her for making the rouge run off of her lip. Parvati was a regular Mati Hara. 

"And Hermione...if you don't mind me asking...just who is this mystery man?" asked Parvati after she finished applying the rouge. She backed away and nodded, satisfied with her work. 

Hermione shrugged and stood up, feeling so much prettier after that touch-up. "It's...it's no one." 

Parvati eyed her quizzically. "Not anyone in Gryffindor. I know that at least." 

Hermione giggled and twirled around. "How do I look?" 

"Like one of those Grecian goddesses," Parvati sighed wistfully. "I love those frills. And that lace. It's so you. Is there a slit?" 

Hermione shook her head. "I sort of wish there was, but the skirts are loose enough so that I can run in them." 

Parvati stood and smirked. She stared at her own form-fitting dress with a tinge of distaste. But she recovered when glimpsing her slender leg from the slit. "Well, you look beautiful tonight. Whoever that guy is, he'd be blind not to notice you." 

Hermione's heart gave a hopeful flutter. "Really?" 

"Look for yourself. There's a mirror right there." 

Hermione bit the inside of her lip (because her outer lip was covered with shimmery goop) and stared at her reflection. Her eyes widened. Was that girl in the mirror her? Hermione stared at her newly sculpted eyebrows, her thickened lashes, her seemingly pouty lips. Parvati was a master. Her eyes were painted with shimmering white, dark silver, and black. 

"See how the dress now flatters **you**, not the other way around?" Parvati asked a bit nervously. "How'd I do?" 

Hermione smiled brilliantly despite her incredible fatigue of sleeping a total of three hours for twelve days and looped her arm through Parvati's. "You're so good! Let's go." 

**-x-x-**

Draco couldn't help himself. He was just too damned tired to resist her. Amazing that he had lasted so long. He supposed sex did bid a sort of mystical energy for him to act with. But afterwards, he just collapsed on top of her body in utter exhaustion. He was paralyzed with fatigue. Would he be able to move at all? 

The girl under him whispered sweet nothings into is ear as she stroked his lean body with her elegantly slender hands. She had lazy, pampered hands. He couldn't even summon enough strength to tell her to shut the hell up. 

After a few minutes, Draco sighed and pulled himself off of this veela with a crooked smile and started fixing the buttons of his robe and pants. She did the same, pulling down the skirts bundled around her waist and smoothing down the silk. 

"You were wonderful," Marie drawled. 

Draco went to the mirror to smooth down his hair. 

"But you did not have the passion from before. You disappoint me." 

Draco suppressed the urge to chuckle. Well. That was the first time a woman had ever been disappointed in him regarding... 

"You are preoccupied." 

Draco turned around and offered his arm to her. She accepted it with a pout. 

"Is it another woman?" 

Draco did not answer but by the tightening of his lips, Marie fully knew that it was. 

The Great Hall was, and Draco grudgingly admitted this, decorated rather nicely. Flakes of glittering snow fell gently down onto the wooden floors then shattered into little dust-specks of light before completely fizzing out. Light was provided by the numerous crystal lanterns hung about the Great Hall. Entrapped inside those glass lanterns were little pixies glowing blue and white light. Even they had partners and danced graciously in their glass prisons. 

Many Slytherins greeted Draco with smiles of astonishment. Their eyes trailed enviously at the beauty strolling next to him. Draco nodded haughtily at his peers and stole a glance at Marie. She was obviously basking in this attention. 

_I feel like I'm going to throw up,_ he complained silently. But who could he tell that would care? Certainly not Marie. She would look at him sourly and warn him not to retch on her gown. What a wonderful wife she was to make for her cousin. 

"Draco!" 

Draco paused at the sound of that voice. He turned around and saw Thomas Wellington walking towards him. Draco noticed conveniently that Hermione was not with him. 

"Oh. Hello, Marie," Thomas said with a polite smile towards the seething woman. 

"Thomas," she snarled with a nasty smile on her lips. 

"Oh. So you two are aquatinted," Draco said casually. Then, he wondered, "Where is your escort?" 

"Hermione? She's to say the welcome. With that Hawkings boy. They are the heads, after all." Thomas seemed a bit displeased to have his date snatched away from him, but he shrugged it off. "Ah, well." 

"Draco. And...Marie." 

Draco whipped around to find Blaise smirking at him. Again, he quelled the urge to punch the bastard's face in. In his arms was a very beautiful-looking blond with heavy eyeliner and sultry lips. Was she a student of Hogwarts or one of Blaise's notorious imports? 

Then the blonde whispered something in French into Blaise's ear. He nodded. She strutted off towards the refreshment stand. Yes, definitely an import. 

Thomas grinned. "Hello, Blaise." 

And, very bluntly yet with irresistible charm, Blaise asked, "Where is your lovely lady?" 

And Thomas explained Hermione's heads situation. Draco did not listen to the two. Instead, he let his tired eyes wander around the darkened hall, watching beautified girls smiling and flirting with their escorts. He wondered what Hermione would look like. He wondered what her dress looked like. Would she be made up like all of these other girls? Draco sighed quietly. The degree of his desire to see her again was outrageous. 

"And how are things in the royal palace?" Blaise asked with a little smirk. 

Thomas replied in a mocking voice, "'Thomas, you will be the worse duke in the history of the Wellington family' and the like." 

"That witch of a step-mother isn't dead yet?" 

"Apparently, she will live longer than me. After all, she's only ten years my senior and devestatingly beautiful. Has me drooling sometimes." 

"What are you doing here, then?" Marie demanded. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow in her direction. "Why, studying. I'm still a student, after all. Well, a student at heart." 

"Do any of these...Hogwarts students know that you are a duke?" 

"I hope not. I think not. At least, Hermione doesn't seem to know. I'm not princely enough, you see." 

Draco's eyes grew wistful at her name. Blaise, Thomas, and worse off, Marie, noticed. 

"Who is this...**Hermione**?" Marie spat. 

Thomas grinned. "She's the head girl. And I am her escort." 

Draco suddenly felt that wave of nausea from sleep-deprivation again. He dropped Marie's hand and said, "You three squabble on your own. I need a drink." 

Draco walked off, Blaise's voice fading in his ear: "Poor bastard. Too much stress..." 

Draco held up his middle finger in Blaise's general direction, earning a laugh from the cocky rascal. 

Draco arrived at the punch stand and gripped the table cloth to keep from spinning. When his vision cleared, he poured himself a glass of punch and took a deep swig, wincing at the sweetness. 

"Looks like you haven't gotten much sleep either," a familiar voice said from his side. Draco swirled around and faced the owner of that voice. His eyes narrowed. His smile grew more crooked. 

"It's nice to know you care, Potter," he sneered, leaning against the punch table. 

Harry's eyes flashed angrily. He drank down his punch, those green eyes still not leaving Draco's. "I still amazed at how stupid you get every time I see you." 

Draco allowed this barb graciously with a small smirk. "And my, doesn't that scar grow brighter every time I see **you**. Tell me: have any nightmares these days?" 

Harry smirked. "Actually, no. But I know Hermione does have them." 

Draco jerked, almost spilling his punch on his dress robes. He swore under his breath and focused his steely gaze on Harry, the humor absent from his eyes. "And why do you think I would care about her?" he asked harshly. 

The nastiness in Harry's smile was gone. He stared at Draco for a long moment, perhaps trying to piece together what all this meant. "It's something like insomnia," Harry said carefully. "And it's draining her. I was surprised when I saw her again. She looked like a skeleton. And she can hardly keep her eyes open anymore...but she doesn't sleep." 

Draco listened, the breath slowly choking out of his body. But his face remained stoic. He would give **nothing** to Potter! 

"She lied to me. And Ron. She told us that she had these spells before. You know, the whole insomnia thing." 

Draco sneered. "Smart girl. She's beginning to learn." 

Harry ignored Draco. Instead, he stared at the elevated platform where the two heads would appear in a matter of minutes. "But I don't believe her. Not a word. She just says that so we won't worry about her. You're the one who did this to her, aren't you?" 

Draco opened his mouth angrily to protest but Harry spoke up quickly. "Man, you I know I fucking hate your guts," he started. 

"Likewise," Draco snarled. 

"But know that I'm doing this for her, not you. Whatever happened during your detentions, whatever you two did..." and Harry paused, perhaps trying to absorb what he was saying, "it caused some sort of a curse that won't let you two go." 

Draco felt his temper flare for no apparent reason. And he succumbed to it. He walked up to Harry and jabbed a finger in front of his face. "You have no **fucking** idea what you're talking about, you stupid prick." 

"Well, dumbass, obviously it's something mutual between you two," said Harry calmly. "She can't sleep and you can't sleep, by the looks of you. So...think back. Resolve whatever happened." 

Draco felt weak suddenly with his anger burned out. He rubbed his eyes. When did Potter become so damned speculative all of a sudden? And he asked him so. 

Harry smiled thinly. "Just observation." 

Draco glared. "There is nothing between Granger and me. You got that?" 

Harry nodded obligingly. "Didn't say anything like that." 

Draco stared at the platform, a certain longing gleaming from his eyes. _Am I that transparent? So transparent that Potter can see through me?_ "Screw you, Potter." 

"Yeah. You too." 

"She really can't sleep?" 

Harry looked annoyed. "Did you see how wired she was for the last few days? Obviously, she's on drugs or consuming too much coffee. Now I wonder why she would do that." 

"Who else knows about this...ridiculous curse hypothesis?" 

"Just me. And now you." 

"Aw. That is so heartwarming, Potter," Draco said with a smirk. "We should have more of these man-to-man conversations." 

Harry looked truly detested by the idea. 

Draco turned away and stared at the platform. He could not help wondering if Potter was right. Did he end things so abruptly, with so many loose ends, with so little explanation and finality that this was some sort of a...curse? Was that even possible? 

"Well, I can't be seen loitering around with the likes of you any longer, Potter. It'll tarnish my reputation." 

"Likewise," Harry commented dryly. 

And Draco began walking away, his forehead scrunched in thought. 

**X**

**Excellently handled.**

_Can't you leave me alone for just one blessed hour?_ Harry demanded angrily. 

**Now where would the fun be in that?**

_You're a sadistic bastard._

**Is that Malfoy child truly infatuated with the mudblood?**

_Please. This is Malfoy. Not a snowball's chance in hell. Now shut your godamned mouth and let me enjoy my evening._

**You show such disrespect to the dark lord?**

_In case you haven't noticed, you aren't Voldemort. You're just an annoying voice in my head probably implanted by one of his followers to drive me mad._

A high-pitched cackle rung through Harry's head. He bit back a groan and closed his eyes. When the thing stopped laughing, Harry found his hands shaking. But he gasped for breath, knowing that the voice had left him alone. For now. 

"Oh, there you are, Harry!" Amelia, his date, said with a bright smile. 

Harry managed a weak smile back and took her arm. Damn. Why wouldn't those death eaters leave him alone? He was nearly up the wall now. Just a little more and he'd be happily drooling in a loony bin. 

"Did you see Hermione yet?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"Oh...she is **so** pretty! Oh, look! There comes the headmaster. He'll introduce them." 

And Harry watched Dumbledore approach the platform with a slight grimace, feeling hate radiate from his head and from the depths in his brain where the voice slept. He wrapped his arm tightly around Amelia (who giggled beautifully in return) and listened with distaste as Dumbledore began his welcome speech. 

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**_# quote taken from Dante's Inferno -- featured in the first Canto as Dante finds himself in Limbo._**

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**End Notes**: Sorry it had to end there. AHHH! Please don't kill me if this chapter wasn't that you expected! ((dodges rotten bananas)) Really. ROTTEN BANANAS?! 

And I promise: more Hermione and Draco content in the next chapter! I just thought that Hermione and Draco deserved a whole chapter reserved for themselves without all of this mundane preparation. :) 

As always, please review. And until next time, I bid you: adieu. Kisses! 


	18. Dernière Danse

**Author's LOVE**: Whee hee! I've reached the five-hundred review milestone! I'm so happy and I feel so LOVED. Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all of your wonderful comments, criticisms, and suggestions. XD And I'll try to answer some of the frequently asked questions at end of the chapter it's the least I can do after all of your kindness. :) 

_Je veux juste une dernière danse,   
Avant l'ombre et l'indiffèrence,   
Un vertige puis le silence,   
Je veux juste une dernière danse._

"Dernière Danse" by Kyo 

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The Passion of Hate and Love

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Chapter 18: Dernière Danse (Last Dance)   
By Callisto Callispi 

"What a happy year this year has been," Dumbledore announced with a smile. "I am almost sad to see it go." 

"Draco, what is that old man saying? I can not fully understand..." Marie squinted, as if that would aid her in comprehending English. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "Nothing important. Trust me." 

"But change is a way of life. Everything and everyone is a subject to change. It is the equalizer of all time, this change. It affects us both physically and emotionally sometimes we mature, sometimes...we are led astray." 

Dumbledore paused for a few seconds, a pause barely accounted for by any of the professors, but Draco noticed. Oh, hell, he noticed since, well, the old coot stared directly at _him_ after he said it. Draco felt his mouth grow dry. Oh, shit. Did he know? Draco winced and just barely kept his hand from traveling up to his shoulder. _Aw, damn it! Don't start hurting now. DON'T!_

"But we are human. We are all prone to give way to temptation and ambition. It is our nature." 

It burned. Draco struggled to keep his face devoid of any emotion but a snarl crept up his features. He could feel himself perspiring against the bitter bite of the mark. 

"I've faced many winters, and I've seen the human nature destroy, hurt, and kill." 

Draco closed his eyes and took in deep, ragged breaths through his lips. 

"My god, Draco, are you all right?" he heard Marie ask him. 

He nodded and opened his eyes only to find his vision hazy and unfocused. His knees felt weak. Any minute now, he would collapse. Damn this infernal mark! 

Draco didn't know what happened. His legs gave out suddenly, and he barely managed to muffle a moan. But arms, not a woman's but a man's, wrapped brutally around his waist and hoisted him back up. 

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" someone snarled in his ear. 

Draco had to force his lids open. His mouth was dry. "I I " he wheezed out. 

The man behind him began to drag him to the shadowed, unoccupied corner of the Great Hall, trying his best to evade Dumbledore's seemingly cheerful gaze. He muttered obscenities under his breath. 

Draco's mind was a blur even as he stumbled across the sea of dress robes. A minimal number of people noticed him, however. They were too busy gawking at Dumbledore. It was not until he felt himself get slammed against the wall and brutally shaken that his mind began to slowly clear. Draco blinked and clenched his jaw, trying to will the stabbing agony of his shoulder away. And that too gradually began to fade. 

"Are you mad? You can't fall apart like this! Not in front of Dumbledore!" 

Draco wiped away the sweat on his brow. He glared. "Mind your business, Zabini." 

Blaise's eyes darkened. His lips curled in a nasty scowl. "You're such a fucking git. Can't you tell that I'm trying to help?" 

"And I told you. I don't _need_ your help," Draco snarled, smoothing his hair back with his fingers. 

Blaise opened his mouth, probably to snap back angrily at him. Then he blinked, frowned, and shook his head bitterly. "You're such an ass." 

Draco sneered and started to retort but stopped suddenly when he heard the thunderous applause following Dumbledore's announcement: "And now I finally present to you, your head boy and girl!" 

And Draco stared, his eyes unwavering from the platform and her. She emerged into the light like...a... 

"Thank you, Headmaster Dumbledore." 

Gregory Hawking's voice snapped Draco out of his thoughts. He rubbed his eyes for a second, shook his head again, and turned to Blaise. "Is is that Granger?" 

Blaise stared at him, annoyed. "Who else would be up there? She's the head girl, remember? Or has that mark scrambled your brains as well as your shoulder?" 

Draco allowed the dart because he didn't hear it. At least he didn't acknowledge it. His eyes were on Hermione and all of his thoughts were claimed by her smile. He took a step towards her, feeling an almost magnetic pull towards her presence. But he stopped himself before taking the second step no, not this again. He couldn't make a scene now, not with her. Quietly he sunk deeper into the shadows, his eyes glimmering with longing. 

"And we, as representatives of the student body here at Hogwarts," Hermione took off where Gregory left and began to speak, "would like to honor the scholars from the Oxford University of Magic." 

Applause greeted this announcement, though the girls shared in a great majority of the enthusiasm. The boys crossed their arms and raised their eyebrows angrily in the direction at the table where the university scholars sat at. 

"And so let this be the year," Gregory continued after Hermione, "that unity binds Hogwarts and the magical world. Let this unity guide each and every one of us, and especially you all, my fellow seventh years, into the path of light and hope and dreams." 

"This is our last year at Hogwarts, and let us make this year the best that we can possibly make it," Hermione said. She smiled, facing each and every one of her peers. "Do not let go of dreams, do not allow hope to flutter away, and never lose the light. Never let that light dim. I wish you all great fortune, my friends, in comprehending your goals. And achieving them." 

Gregory nodded. "As do I. But now, let us celebrate the last few remaining days of this year. Let us make merry!" 

More applause. This time, everyone shared in the enthusiasm as the heads smiled gleefully back at the students and stepped down from the platform. Draco watched Hermione hungrily. Fire ran through his body when he saw her lick her lips and smile at Gregory as they exchanged a few silent words. How dare that worthless Hufflepuff shit stare at Hermione like that, as if she were someone to bait? How dare

Because she was free for the taking. 

Draco leaned back against the wall and stared dumbly at the rippling lake of silk and glitter. His eyes trailed her with fatigued yet relentless yearning. _Maybe in a different time and different place, I could have... I could have...what? What could I have done?_

"You look like you swallowed Snape's fungus potion. What's wrong with you? Why... Oh." 

Draco stared at Blaise. And Blaise stared at Hermione as she smiled graciously and accepted Thomas Wellington's hand. Without a moment to lose, Thomas collected Hermione in his arms and in one fluid motion, he whisked her off into a quick-paced waltz. 

_Slow down, fool. She's about collapse from fatigue. Can't you see the strain on her face, the tension of her body? Slow down._ Draco thought. 

Draco jerked, seeing someone's fingers snap repeatedly in front of his face. Blaise. 

"You really are infatuated with her, aren't you?" asked Blaise incredulously. His expression was one of horror and amazement. "My god," he continued in a whisper. "Who would have thought. Draco Malfoy and...Hermione Gra " 

"Don't. Say. It," Draco growled, whipping around to face Blaise. And despite the weariness clouding his acute posture, his voice did not lack any of the Malfoy authority. "Or have you failed to remember that she is a mudblood?" 

Blaise's eyes narrowed. His face darkened into a scowl. "Don't you think that the appropriate question is whether or not _you_ have failed to recall that little fact?" And without saying another word, Blaise whipped around and walked away, leaving Draco shocked and seething. 

**X**

She was being twirled around so much that she felt as she were about to throw up. Her breathing was erratic and hard as she scrambled to match Thomas's pace. She could feel cold beads of sweat popping out of his forehead. Strain shot up her heeled foot with every step she usually never wore heeled shoes and dancing in them was a hell that she could have lived without. 

"Your speech with that Hawkings boy was excellent," Thomas said with a fond smile down at Hermione. 

She nodded graciously and replied, "Thank you. It was pre-arranged, however. It wasn't a spontaneous thing." 

"Nevertheless, you have flair for public speaking. It's a quality that I treasure. You had the students mad on their feet with that little speech of yours," he commented charmingly as they fluttered gracefully between the dancing couples. 

Hermione smiled back up at him and they continued their dance. _He likes you, Hermione! He likes you! That's why he's holding you so closely!_

Her mind, as tired as it was, did not stop its ranting. It was true that Thomas Wellington held her more closely than he should have, but that wasn't enough evidence that he

Hermione bit back a gasp as Thomas bent down and gently placed his cheek against hers. _Oh my GOD!_

"Thomas..." Her voice was scratchy, like a voice just aroused from sleep. "I...we..." 

Sensing the tension in her voice, Thomas jerked back, at first with shock. He studied her flushed face and smiled apologetically. "I apologize, Hermione. I had thought that you were feeling I was wrong to do that." 

Hermione remained silent for a few seconds and just stared up at him. Her heart fluttered, her mind shot out thousands of thoughts and retorts in a moment. Why wasn't he saying anything to her? Then, Hermione realized with a shock that she was waiting for an insult or a barb that would never come out of Thomas Wellington's mouth. Hermione forced a smile up and said to him politely, "Don't worry about it." 

And as they danced together to the melody of whispering flutes and tanging guitars, Hermione wondered why she felt a part of herself...missing. Something bothered her, and it tugged at her mind incessantly. It seemed as if a small but significant portion of her rhythm of being was off, like a singer just managing to miss a high note. 

Her eyes drifted from Thomas's chiseled cheekbones. Her gaze wandered over the shadows, the darkened corners of the Great Hall. She searched for him, she knew, and she couldn't help it. 

"If you don't think me blunt for asking..." 

Hermione snapped out of her trance and stared up at Thomas, who was eying her curiously. 

"Just what sort of relationship do you hold with Draco Malfoy?" 

Hermione blinked. Well. This wasn't what she was expecting. "Us? Me? And Dra Mal Draco?" 

Thomas did not urge her to go on but kept his gaze steady. 

"We're..." What were they? Acquaintances? Friends? More than friends? Lovers? No to each and every one of those options. "His and my relationship...it's complicated." 

Thomas raised an eyebrow, steering her gently away from the other dancing couples. He did not hold her as closely as he had done. "Complicated?" 

"We've never been friends. I suppose we're rivals. I we never liked each other. Ever since our first year." 

Confusion exposed itself in Thomas's puzzled frown. "Why ever not? You seem like a perfectly charming girl." 

Hermione laughed softly. But It was too soft to note the bitter tone. No one would have known it was there except for someone who was incredibly observant someone like...Draco. He noticed everything that she did or said, even if she did not wish him to. "I don't know why he and I are the way we are. I suppose it's just one of those things." 

It was an ambiguous response. Hermione saw the frustrated frown on Thomas's face. But he, being the ever-polite man that he was, merely nodded nonchalantly and they kept dancing. 

Hermione closed her eyes for a few seconds. The banging music was giving her a migraine. But they kept dancing while Thomas made small talk. He told her about his family, about his brothers and father and stepmother with humor and considerately inquired about her own relations. 

But while Hermione was telling him about her family and tidbits of her life, the realization of what was missing hit her like a club to the head. 

She missed the heated arguments that Draco always offered so freely to her. 

"And you enjoy Ancient Runes?" 

Hermione nodded and smiled. That was it. Thomas's courtesy (and as charming and as kind as it was) was boring her! His cool, diplomatic manner was captivating as his smile but...he did not have Draco's acid tongue, or Draco's cold eyes, or Draco's sharp taunts. Realization filled her like a flash flood. Draco constantly challenged her mind and wits. And she enjoyed being challenged, even unknowingly. The challenge presented that simple yet erratic rhythm that she constantly strove to feel and hear. 

Her eyes once again got wild with that certain desire that she was not able to quell. Where was he? That stupid, mindless, arrogant, cruel, cold, selfish, nosy prat. How dare he give her something that no one else had hardly given her? How dare he try to ensnare her with that? How dare

Hermione froze when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Draco? She turned her head and felt her heart fall. Blaise. 

"You've been dancing with her for seven songs straight," said Blaise with a bright smile. 

Thomas rolled his eyes. "I am her escort, Blaise. That is what I do." 

"Well, Hermione? Is this chap so interesting that you talk with him for seven songs?" 

Hermione laughed. "Blaise, are you asking me for a dance?" 

Blaise looked up to meet Thomas's eye. When the older man nodded, Blaise took Hermione's hand and grinned cheekily. "Only if you'll allow me." 

Hermione nodded hesitantly. After all, she liked Blaise. And though he was not Draco, she found his demeanor attractive. 

"Oh, good. Thomas, why don't you dance with Claudine?" And without another word, Blaise pulled Hermione into his arms with a wink and swept her off to the dance floor. 

"You look exquisite tonight, Hermione," Blaise said thoughtfully after he searched her face for a few uncomfortable moments. "You should dress up more often." 

Hermione shrugged. "Who has time to do all this?" Again, her eyes searched the Great Hall. Why was she even looking for him? It wasn't as if he would talk to her anyway. 

"You seem preoccupied." 

Hermione turned and faced Blaise. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she saw a glint of...animosity?...in his dark eyes. But she ignored this and closed her eyes for a moment. _I'm imagining things. I need to sleep. I'm so tired._

"You know. Just to make sure everyone is happy." She managed a weary grin. "I just want this ball to be the best it can be." Hermione looked around, noticing for a the first time that they danced in the shadows in the outer rim of the scattered gathering of dancers. Her heart fluttered. 

Blaise lifted one hand from her waist and turned her chin up to have her eyes meet with his. Hermione's eyes widened slightly as she saw the solemn expression on his face. No humor. No charm. Just cold inquisition. "You speak in half-truths. It seems to me that you are searching for _someone_." 

Hermione's throat felt dry. Blaise's grip on her waist became a bit tighter. "And whom am I seeking?" 

"Oh, I don't know. A guy, perhaps. Who knows? Perhaps a certain Slytherin, whom you have despised since you first laid eyes on him." 

Hermione pulled away from Blaise quickly. "Just what are you implying, Blaise?" 

He quickly seized her waist and hand again. "I'm implying nothing. And our dance isn't over." 

Hermione glared and wrested herself from Blaise's grasp. He stared at her angrily. "You are mistaken. This dance was over ever since you brought up the subject of Draco." 

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Ah. So Draco now is it?" 

She stifled a gasp as she realized her folly. But she kept her face straight and cold. "Yes. Draco. That _is_ his name, isn't it?" 

"It is. But I find it strange that you refer to him by his given name instead of his surname. You've been calling him 'Malfoy' until just now, am I not right?" His voice shook with barely contained fury. Hermione backed away. 

"What is the matter with you, Blaise?" she asked quietly. "Why are you so angry?" 

He did not answer for a few seconds. He merely stared at the floor and when he did finally look up at her, he said quietly, "Weasley is staring very angrily at us. Don't you think it'd be better to resume dancing until this song is complete?" 

Reluctantly, Hermione took Blaise's outstretched hand allowed herself to bend to his will. She followed his lead and his footsteps quietly, not knowing why she felt so...nervous in his presence. 

Why did each dance feel like an eternity for her? Her feet ached and her eyelids felt heavy. Hermione swallowed down a sigh and nodded a greeting as she danced past Harry. Harry stared curiously at her, obviously wondering why she was dancing with a Slytherin, but then stared knowingly in Ron's direction. Hermione, puzzled, turned her head then bit the inside of her lip. Ron was scowling deeply in her direction and refused to acknowledge her gaze. He merely kept dancing with his partner as if nothing had happened, save for that nasty look on his face. 

Perhaps if she were a bit less tired and in a better disposition, she would have made a move to speak with him to ease that famous Weasley temper. But she didn't. Not this night. Not while she felt like a bag of rotten bananas. 

"You can tell me, you know." 

Hermione looked up at Blaise. He avoided her gaze. "Tell you what?" 

"About him." 

"Who?" 

"Draco." 

This time, he looked down at her. And this time, Hermione found that she had difficulty looking him in the eye. "Nothing is going on between us." 

"You're lying, Hermione." 

"I'm not." 

"I can hear it in your voice." 

Hermione hesitated before replying. What could she say? Blaise was more attentive than she had thought. "Why are you asking me this?" 

Blaise paused before answering. "I am in Slytherin, Hermione. We're the most cunning of the cunning, the vilest of the vile. And I'm naturally curious." 

"Try naturally nosy." 

Blaise snorted. 

Hermione cast her eyes downward and stared at the swimming hem of her multi-layered skirt. With every step, the silk gently oscillated like an ocean of black. The pointed tips of her shoes moved on their own accord, following Blaise's own. What was she doing here in the arms of another man? What was she doing in the arms of Slytherins? What was she doing kissing one? 

"Have you ever...loved anyone, Blaise?" Hermione asked quietly without thinking. She bit her bottom lip and immediately regretted asking the question. Blaise's fingers pressed against hers more firmly. He did not answer her for a few seconds. 

"No. I haven't. But I think I am starting to." 

Hermione looked up, shocked. He did not return her stare. Instead, his eyes were focused sharply on something over Hermione's head. Curiously, Hermione dared a look over her shoulder and sighed quietly. She turned around gently and placed a tentative hand on Blaise's chest. 

He was staring at her, those gray eyes glinting. Draco's gaze had flickered towards her for a second, and that second was the only time that she needed to catch the look in his eyes. Hermione was surprised to feel the gentle thump of Blaise's heart against her palm. Oh god. Was Blaise...nervous around her? 

Without a word, Blaise gently covered Hermione's hand with his own. The song was fading in the background. Their dance was almost over. But why wasn't Blaise releasing her? Why were they still moving to that soundless beat of silence? Hermione looked up and stifled a gasp as she found Blaise's face looming over hers. His dark gaze pierced her very eyes. Those eyes refused to allow her to turn her head; she was unable to look away. 

When she thought he had her trapped, Blaise's eyes flickered toward her lips. He craned his neck slowly down to her face, tilting his head as the distance between them slowly diminished. Hermione's heart pounded in her chest as Blaise slowly twirled them into a shadowed corner. Fear. Anxiety. He was trying to kiss her. 

"B-Blaise..." she whispered, her lips grazing against his. Chilling lips. Even his breath seemed cold. _Pull away. Pull away. Why are you doing this...?_

They twirled around together slowly. Hermione's breath shuddered as Blaise gently nudged her against the wall. This wasn't right. She wasn't the type of girl to kiss random people in dark corners. Wanton! Why

And there he was again. Hermione tore her gaze away from the sensually full lips that were about to kiss her and met eyes with Draco Malfoy just barely over Blaise's shoulder. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, his arms falling limp from his partner's slender waist. Draco was staring at her in unspoken horror, like a man betrayed. 

"No," Hermione whispered, turning her head just before Blaise's lips could capture hers. She closed her eyes, literally hundreds of emotions shooting through her already beaten, battered, fatigued brain. Her knees trembled, and she would have collapsed to the ground if Blaise wasn't holding her up. 

A ruffle of silk. Blaise whipped around then turned back with a murderous scowl on his face. Hermione was too tired for fear or anger. She just wanted to be left alone. No more dancing, no more

"Mmmph! Mmpth! Blmmpth!" she squealed against the hard lips that seized her own. Blaise's hard body and strong arms pinned her helpless against the wall. Brutally did Blaise force her mouth open. She clamped her jaw shut, refusing to yield to such savage conduct. "Hmmmph! Mmmnph!" Cries bubbled in her throat as his teeth scraped against the tender, bruising flesh of her lips. And then, just as brutally he plundered that kiss, he pulled back, snapping her head roughly to the side with the strength of his own jaw. 

"Don't think that Draco Malfoy will be able to protect you," Blaise hissed through his teeth as he pulled away. Hermione gasped for breath, her mind dizzy. She bit back a cry as Blaise's hands tightened around her arms, applying just enough pressure for it to hurt but not enough to leave a bruise. Then, without another word, he whipped around and stalked angrily toward the punch stand where a young woman was currently standing, chatting animatedly with an Oxford scholar. 

Hermione sank against the wall in a horrified daze, unmindful of the fact that Draco was furiously running towards Blaise. 

_Fuck Slytherin_. 

No good little shits. Bastards! All of them! Without another thought, Hermione stood up, stiffened her back, and silently walked to the doors of the Great Hall. Enough. Enough of the fake smiles, the endless dances, the attempts to best her and her pride. Assholes, all of them. Draco, Blaise, and even Thomas Wellington, who was happily occupied with a leggy, bare-backed seventh-year Slytherin. Enough of Ron's jealous stares, enough of Harry's sympathetic smiles. Enough of men. All of them. Hermione would have liked nothing better at the moment to _stupify_ all of them with her wand. Sleep. 

_Please. Sleep, be kind to me once. Please. Let me sleep!_

**X**

Draco could not describe the emotions that pounded him when he saw Blaise kissing Hermione. At first, he felt numb, as if he had just swallowed Novocain meant for his whole body. But he watched those hands pin her against the wall, trap her to his body. He watched Blaise make Hermione his own prisoner. 

Acid. The next sensation was acid. Acid bubbled in his stomach, his throat, threatening to dissolve his very vocal chords. His whole body felt as if it were on fire a hot, acidic fire. He wanted to throw up, scream, and punch the bastard's face in all at once. And much, much more. 

"What the _fuck_ were you doing!" Draco roared as he yanked Blaise away from the French girl that he was currently holding in his arms. And though the music was loud, Draco's voice seemed to just barely carry above the combined clatter of guitars, pianos, and the loud prattle of the students. 

"_Monsieur! Vous_ " 

"_SHUT UP_!" he screamed in the blond girl's face as he grabbed a hold of Blaise's collar and slammed him against the far wall. 

But even with Draco's trembling fists gripping the collar of his silk shirt, Blaise cocky as ever, even slammed against the wall laughed. "Are you truly going to mangle my face at the Yule Ball for a _mudblood_?" 

"You sneaking bastard! You sick little _fuck_!" Draco seethed. "You two-faced " 

"Yes, yes. I'm just a sod who would best fuck myself up the arse, right? I know everything that you will throw at me." Then, despite the hands that shoved him against the wall, Blaise craned his head towards Draco's and asked in a deadly whisper, "So what are you going to do about it, my future dark lord?" 

Draco leaned in closer, so close that their noses almost touched. A gray tempest challenged the knife-like deadliness of black. "I'm not going to do anything yet. But watch your back. Because when I catch you alone, I'll kick the _shit_ out of you." 

Draco stared at Blaise's reddened lips, the lips that raped Hermione's. With a snarl, Draco slammed his hands back. Blaise cursed loudly as his head hit the back wall with a sickening thump. Draco backed off slowly, murder gleaming in eyes. Blaise glared coldly back, obviously quite unperturbed. And without another word, Draco whipped around and ran out of the Great Hall after Hermione. He did not see Ron walking after him. 

**X**

The hem of her skirt teased the ground with its ruffles. As she walked, she could hear the _swish, swish_ of her hem grazing over the carpeted floor. Well. This dress was a waste of money. How many galleons did she spend on this? 

_At least enough to buy myself about nine hard-cover books,_ she thought bitterly. 

The music was but a fading serenade to the chaos ensuing in her mind. The jingle of bells mocked her. The guitars taunted her. _"Poor little Hermione. Wanted by so many, yet she refuses to yield. Poor, saintly Hermione. Boys always trying to defeat that pride, that wall that you've raised to protect yourself "_

"Shut up," she whispered. 

_"And what hardships dear old Hermy's enduring, all for the sake of her foolish pride. You should have accepted Thomas's affections. You should have let Blaise kiss you. You complain about being unwanted. You push _them_ away, not the other way around, you stupid, stupid girl!"_

Why did that voice sound so much like Snape's? 

"Granger!" 

Her steps faltered. Her skirts swayed between her legs. _Swish, swish._

_Keep walking. Keep walking._ She stood there, staring ahead into the darkness. Blood rushed to her face and heated her lips. _And since when have I become so dependent on a man?_ she wondered. With her fists clenched, she began to walk again with resolution. 

"Granger, wait!" 

The sound of his footsteps became louder. Hermione jerked away as she felt his hand on her shoulder. "Leave me alone," she spat. 

What made her think that he would listen to her? Draco's fingers wrapped around her upper arm and twirled her to him in one fluid movement. He did it so smoothly, so gently. Loosened curls fell down over her forehead and ears. The goop that Lavender used to make her hair sleek lost most of its potency. In a few hours, Hermione knew her hair would resort to being the bushy fluff-ball that it usually was. 

"What do you want?" she asked angrily, staring directly into his eyes. But Draco did not seem to care. He scrutinized her forehead and cheeks. The gray of his eyes seemed to darken when his gaze fell onto her lips. 

"I was just wondering...if you were all right," he finally said, stepping back. His fingers grazed over her bare skin, sending a wave of shivers over her skin. Hermione watched his actions, drinking in the mere image of him. His hair, probably nicely combed before this fiasco, now fell wildly over his eyes. He looked away and murmured something softly under his breath. 

"What was that?" Hermione asked, feeling her anger ebb away little by little. 

Draco mumbled something incoherently. Hermione strained to hear. Was it just her imagination or were his cheeks a bit pinker than usual? 

"Malfoy, I can't hear you. You need to speak more clearly if you " 

"I _said_," he began loudly, emphasizing each word, "that you...you look..._decent_ tonight." 

And despite everything that had happened, Hermione grinned and stepped out a bit from the shadows. 

"For a Gryffindor, I mean," he quickly clarified. 

She laughed and twirled around, watching with pleasure as her skirts flared up above her shins like a silver mist. The small pearls and shards of crystal sewed painstakingly into her gown glimmered like midsummer night stars. "Do you like it?" she asked with good cheer. "It was very pricey well, not very pricey for a Malfoy, probably but the woman at the shop said it looked all right. And I usually don't look very pretty in dresses or any formal wear, you see." 

Draco cleared his throat and nodded before looking away. His cheeks were now pink. "But what's all that goop on your face? It makes you look unlike yourself. You look far better without those disgusting powders smeared about." 

Immediately, Hermione's fingers made their way up to her face. True, she did use some foundation and applied some blush, but...she didn't look that bad, did she? Oh. It must have been the eyeliner. It was too dark. Or maybe it was the eyeshadow. She knew she should have told Parvati to lighten it up a bit, but

"My god. I can't believe I just said that to you," Draco muttered, scratching the back of his head. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and looked rather interestedly at a dusty vase. Hermione felt a tinge of wry amusement. She couldn't believe how awkward this was for the both of them. 

"Is that all?" she asked, finally breaking the silence. She ignored the desire the wash all of this sticky make-up off of her face. 

Draco said nothing and rocked back on his heels. Hermione stared pointedly at him, expecting him to find a way to make fun of her, as he always did. When nothing came, she turned on her heel and began to walk away. 

**X**

She stood in front of him like a queen of the night in that gown. How could he stare at her and keep his distance? It was impossible. So he just looked at mundane little artifacts scattered about this ancient castle. She took it as an insult, probably. But he was in a selfish mood right now. And frankly, he didn't care about anything except for himself and Hermione at the moment. And she was leaving him, angry and proud like a monarch. The back of her dress fluttered enticingly, inviting him to run his hands through the smooth silk. 

"Hold on." 

She stopped in front of him but kept her back turned. And, ignoring every protest circling around in his brain, Draco stepped up behind her and breathed in her scent. His nose gently muzzled the nape of her neck that was so vulnerably exposed to him. Perhaps one kiss wouldn't hurt. One good-bye kiss. Just one. It was just a kiss. It couldn't hurt, it couldn't damage things too badly between them. 

And tentatively, Draco lowered his lips to her bare shoulder. His tongue flicked out to taste her sweet flesh, enraptured just by the soft scent of roses and vanilla that engulfed her whole being. Did she ever smell like anything else, taste like anything else? 

His lips gently slid upward from her shoulder to the softer, more vulnerable skin of her neck. 

"Draco," Hermione whispered raggedly. But she could protest all that she wanted. Draco knew, as his arms encircled her waist and his hands trailed a hot path up from her stomach to her breasts, that she wanted this just as he did. And that she was powerless to stop this...just like him. 

Hermione's back arched against his as his hands gently covered her breasts with painstaking tenderness. She laid her head on his shoulder and captured his lips with her own swollen ones. A rush of hot desire pounded through his aching body as she circled her arms around his neck and pulled him down more firmly against her. 

And as she gently opened her mouth, Draco couldn't help wondering why this felt so...right. Did men and women live all their lives as one giant puzzle piece, seeking forever that one other piece that fitted with them? His tongue met with hers tentatively, and Draco smirked slightly, thinking that this was going to be one hell of a kiss. 

Sensations pounded through his worn body as her chest heaved heavily against his hands. The soft swell of her breasts rose and fell underneath his fingers. She whimpered against his mouth but kissed him back hungrily. What happiness and relief he felt now with Hermione leaning against him like this surpassed the other childish desires that he had so easily succumbed to. Every kiss, every moan, every casual shag he had dealt out before being with Hermione they were just bland memories fading away in his mind. Hermione was here. She had the heat. She was the present. She was _now_. 

And gently, Draco did something that he had never even planned doing. His kisses became lighter and more gentle, and within seconds, he pulled his lips away from hers. Quietly, he stared at her pale face, gazing fondly at her from her closed eyes to her red lips. 

Warmth spread throughout his body as he held her carefully so as not to hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her again...because he killed himself little by little when tears dropped from her eyes on an account of him. Every moment of coldness, each moment of forced courtesy and professionalism between them slaughtered what little was left of his soul. 

But this warmth. It was like the elixir of life. His cold, corpse of a body was being rejuvenated with the elixir that was Hermione. And when he was with her, he felt utterly _alive_. When she smiled at him, he took joy at the hot blood rushing through out his body. When she touched him, he suddenly marveled at the texture of his own skin, slightly stunned yet satisfied at how pale he was. His five senses brightened, sharpened when she was with him. He was a corpse, but she brought him back, pulled him back into this physical world where not everything was money and power. She made him warm again, and this was strange because this warmth tingeing his fingertips wasn't the fiery desire or passion he usually felt when he was with her. This warmth was more comforting, less erratic but incredibly intense the same. It drummed heart and squelched his breath. With a graceful flick of his fingers, the loose strand of hair that hung over the left side of her forehead was tucked behind her ear. 

"I'll admit that...I've wanted this," she whispered, her eyes still closed. 

"I know you did," he said quietly in her ear. 

"Did you?" 

Draco closed his eyes and buried his face in the mass of loosened curls. "Yes." 

And as fluidly as he would have done, Hermione wriggled out of his grasp and pulled away. He almost cried out, already dreading the hard emptiness that replaced her soft body. But he obliged. He couldn't trap her to him, no matter how much he wanted to keep her as his prisoner. 

But she didn't leave him as he had thought that she would do. Instead, Hermione turned to face him, her eyes downcast but pondering. She ran her fingers through his mussed hair, trying but failing to comb back the wayward strands of platinum that fell over his eyes. 

"Am I just a one-night stand?" she asked quietly, jerking him out of his defending thoughts. 

"What?" 

"You know. Just someone to play with. Just someone for a casual snog." Her words were light but her tone was not. Draco just barely managed to catch the quiver of her voice, but he knew for sure it was there. 

He pressed his forehead against hers and asked softly, "Why do you think that?" 

She closed her eyes briefly. And when she spoke again, she spoke with tears brimming her eyelids. "Because you hate me." 

This time, Draco closed his eyes. Why must his romance be so complicated? How come he couldn't have fallen in love with a _FUCKING_ pureblood? Was that too bloody much to ask for! Why Hermione? Why someone who was muggle-born and was in Gryffindor? Two strikes against her. Ah...but wasn't there really three strikes? Didn't they have one more chance of being together? "I don't hate you. You know that." 

"Can you stand me, then?" she whispered, tears choking her voice. 

Draco was stunned. Stand her? 

"I'm not like you. I'm not a pureblooded aristocrat. I'm just me. I'm a mud I'm muggle-born." She bit her lip as tears trailed down her cheeks. Tears of anger. Tears of sorrow, of humiliation. And Draco watched her, his heart wrenching. His hands shook as he brushed her tears away. 

"Granger..." 

"It's that, isn't it?" she asked quietly. 

And though he was a man built upon his own lies, Draco found himself unable to keep the truth from her. Ah, yes. He was the dark lord's heir. Strike three. "Yes." 

Her brows furrowed more deeply. A quiet sob escaped her throat, and hearing that, Draco shut his eyes tightly and struggled against the heated tears threatening to cloud his eyes. Her docile acceptance of this simple fault that was not hers to being with...it stabbed him all over. 

"I'm sorry," he said hollowly. "But you don't understand. There are people...like me who will hurt you. They will torture you until you bloody beg for them to kill you." 

Hermione nodded, biting her lip furiously. 

"And...I'm a part of them. It's how I grew up, Granger. Even if I wanted to get out, how can I?" He pulled himself away and faced the hallway leading to the Great Hall. "But I will protect you. Only you. Understand that." 

**X**

This was like a bloody nightmare for her. She wanted to scream, cry, and slap the bastard's face. But she could not. Why? Because she cared about him. She cared about him so much that she was not even horrified that he would let something like her heritage come between them. But, she was rational. She knew what he thought. She already knew of Draco's allegiance to Voldemort, of his deadly ambition for power that hardly befitted a young man of eighteen. Would he throw all of that away for her? She had thought that he might have, maybe. But...Malfoys were impenetrable. 

All she could do was accept his decision with good grace and try to move on. Anything else would demean her and her character. But when he said that, when he made that vow to her, she felt that there was some hope left in him yet. 

_"But I will protect you. Only you. Understand that."_

"What will you protect me from? Death? Torture? Pain?" she asked, wiping the tears away with her fingertips. 

Draco turned to stare at her. His gaze softened. "Everything." 

"How about yourself?" 

He looked away. 

"Well, Draco Malfoy?" she said loudly, her voice rising with each word. "Will you protect me from yourself? From your hypocritical bearing? From your own selfishness?" 

His eyes shot up. "Selfishness?" 

Hermione shook her head and stepped back into the shadows. Her voice softened, just in case anyone would hear them yelling at each other. "I know why you are doing this. The last few weeks were just a fling. I was your toy, something to amuse yourself with. Something to seduce, to cajole, to kiss. But then when you felt something foreign, something like care, you back away. Why? Because you hate mudbloods like me. Every single one of us." Her eyes glittered, this time with anger, not sorrow. "But you're in too deep right now, aren't you? You're too deep in the ranks of your little death eaters, too deep in this relationship with...me." 

"No. No! You don't know what you are " Draco snarled, stepping towards her. 

"Yes, Malfoy," Hermione said softly while raising a hand to stop him in his tracks. "You don't need to lie to me, you know. I've known you for too long. You're so selfish. You want to pull yourself away from me because I don't agree with your ideals. You're sacrificing me for your own ascendance to power, to glory." Hermione stopped to breathe in. This was all true. And yet, these words seemed so surreal. "Don't apologize. Don't make excuses. Because I know. And I accept it. It's your life. I can't force you to do anything. You and I both know that." 

Something flickered across his face. Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment. Shame? Did he feel shame? But when she opened her eyes again, his stoic mask was firmly set to place. He stared at her as he had always done since this all began, with curiosity and soft concern. 

"Granger...I...I'm " 

"I understand." But did she? Yes, she understood the situation and understood that she had to accept the consequences for her actions. But no, she did not understand him or herself. Was she truly harboring secret hopes hopes even unknown to herself until this night that Draco would leave the death eaters that easily, turn his back to the lessons learned since his birth, forgo the power and resources offered to him for...her? She was, and she realized this with a sickening thump, only a one-month desire shadowed by his eighteen-year ambition. 

And then she spoke the words that hurt her and him the most. "So I will not bother you anymore." 

The hallway seemed so much more darker then, the music much more wild and louder. The thrill of trysts, the romance of dancing, and fantasy of happily ever after they were all crushed underneath the relentless foot of the duties and obligations of real life. And Hermione realized with mild shock that no, this story, her and Draco's story was not a fairy tale. 

Loud applause from the Great Hall greeted their ears like howls of harpies. Mock. _Bravo, bravo! What a tragedy! More, we need more!_ But neither flinched. Hermione dwelled in the shadows of her own anger, Draco drowned in the light of his own conscience. She felt like a character on stage, reciting lines of angst for the enjoyment of paying spectators here to enjoy the show. The applause. Credit to her excellent characterization. The god damned applause! 

"Why won't they stop clapping?" Draco asked quietly. 

She eyed him evenly. The tears were dry. The wound in her heart bled freely. "It's the final song of the night." 

And Draco walked quietly towards her, holding out his hand. "Then may I have this last dance?" 

Hermione stared at his hand for a moment. His hand was the hand that would commit murders, murders against those of her kind, those with similar birth as hers. And he would do it with pleasure. He would think that he was doing good, and knowing him, he would drive those under him with the same zeal that he harbored. The owner of the hand frightened her, but all the same, he was loved by her. 

"All right," she said quietly, stepping into the light for him. Only for him. 

In one fluid motion, he took Hermione to his chest and wound his arm around her waist. His eyes locked with hers and she saw in those gray depths something shining like light. _He is not right for them,_ Hermione thought as she gazed at the glow of his moon-colored hair and ivory-tinted skin. _He does not belong in the darkness._

The gentle music of innocent love cradled their steps with its soft rhythm. With a sigh, knowing that this was the last time for her and Draco to be together like this, Hermione leaned in close to him and rested her head against his shoulder. Why were things so messed up in this world of theirs? Why was society so cruel? 

Each step did Hermione dread and cherish at the same time. One step closer for Draco leaving her for his own ambitions, each step leading them into a world of their own, no matter how temporary it was. And as Hermione continued to breathe in his fresh scent of peppermint, Hermione couldn't help wondering if they've danced like this before. The thought was ridiculous, of course. They've never danced together before this, not even in her dreams. But still, Hermione thought she felt a sense of deja vu, him bidding her farewell with this last dance. 

"How is it," Draco said quietly, "that you know me so well, Granger?" 

"What do you mean?" 

He paused before answering, perhaps trying to sort out his own turbulent emotions. "You've known me for seven years. And we've never spoken much either. But how is it that you read me so accurately, know what I want? Even those whom I've lived with, my own father and mother, do not know me half as well as you do, I should think." 

Hermione rubbed her cheek against the cool silk of his robes. His arms around her tightened possessively. "I don't know." 

A minute passed and neither of them spoke. Instead, they glided elegantly in the empty hall, gently prompted by the distant music. It seemed as if it were fated that they danced alone, away from those clumped together in the Great Hall, students who hardly knew of sacrifice and the acceptance of that sacrifice. And just as forbidden lovers should, Hermione and Draco danced in each other's arms to the fading music of violins and guitars. 

"You know me for who I am," Draco whispered as the music began to wane. "And still, you accept me." 

Hermione blinked back her tears. No more crying. She did enough of that, and she kept the tears bottled inside. And as the violins wailed their last note, she stepped back, preparing to leave. But before she left, Draco lifted her chin to face him with the tips of his fingers, and she faced him, her eyes shining with tenderness for him. 

"You accept me," he repeated, his voice choking. His hands trembled as he brushed back locks of curled hair from her face. The tips of his fingers kissed her skin with every touch. "And I love you for that, Hermione." 

And with that final declaration, Draco leaned down...and their lips met more tenderly than ever before. 

Applause. Applause from the Great Hall. Applause from the gods. 

The fitting close for this scene. And the lovers will take their bow, the bow that marks the end of this half of life and leads to the beginning of the next half. 

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**End Notes**: SOB! I'm halfway though this ridiculously long story! Fifty percent finished! And I apologize in advance if this chapter is a bit of a tear-jerker. I didn't cry...because I was sort of writing it. It's the drama and angst of real life. What can I say:) 

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**Stuff That I Will Attempt to Clear Up and Answer:**

**_Lemon! Muahahahaha!_**   
It's a very maybe. I mean, this is an R-rated romance. So it would appropriate. :-) 

**_Red Widow, Thomas Wellington, Blaise, Rowena, Salazar..._**   
Ah. My little Mafia of original characters and characters that don't really pertain to this story! Don't worry, dear readers! I put the OC's and Rowena, Salazar, and Blaise in the story with GOOD reason. They may be fading in the background now, but I assure you, they will emerge into the light soon. Especially that Red Widow lady. If things go as planned and Draco stops being such an ass, she will dawn as a very important character of the plot. Not sure about Wellington though. But he's a useful character to tweak around with. ;) 

**_Draco's Little Situation (THE DAMNED MARK!)_**   
Please, people. This is a Hermione and Draco story, is it not? They may be going through hell now but isn't that what makes a happy (or relatively happy) ending all the more beautiful? Don't worry, dearies. Trust me. 

**_Alert for New Chapters_**   
Some people have been leaving in their reviews a request for me to alert them when I post a new chapter. Well, if you are a member of the fanfiction dot net site, then there is this feature that's called Author Alert. Bot alerts you by e-mail when an author you have marked updates. But for other non-members, please leave a message for me in the reviews to alert you. I know a few people requested for me to update them personally by e-mail but I've never really gotten a chance to do just that. But I will from now on. Thanks! 

**_Some Much-Deserved Kudos_**   
I want to thank all of you for your support personally. But alas, I cannot reply to over five-hundred (w00t!) reviews. First off, I would like to thank **Jen (IMBhawksrule you know who you are!)** for sticking with me through thick and thin on POHAL. You've been reviewing since the beginning and I love you and your comments for it! You're wonderful thanks so much! Second is **Corinne (bondgirl53001 you know who you are too!)** for sticking with me as well. The greatest praise for an author is hearing that another writer enjoys their work. Thank you. **RedWitch1** and **Kiyoko** and **Adreena Nightingale** and **SPARKLING EYES** and **Jadziadaxx** and **Sila-chan**, your names just pop up into my head. Perhaps its because of your reviews through out the last chapters. Love to you guys! Oh, and **kittey**, thanks for your awesomely long reviews! I jump with glee every time I read them! Woohoo for long reviews! 

I'm sorry if I left out anyone. There are just too many people to thank, but the people named above have just helped me so much. Aii... Enough with the SUPER LONG sentimentalities! Thank you for reading this! And as always, review please! XD 


	19. Glimpses: Have We Hated For So Long?

_I do not seek and do not intend to find  
A calmer ocean or a sun that never will rise  
My world will never change and time'll bring you to my thoughts  
And I'll move on and then forget you all over again  
Moving on, I can forgive you all over again _

"A Poem For Byzantium" by Delerium

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**The Passion of Hate and Love**  
Chapter 19: Glimpses . . . Have We Hated For So Long?  
By Callisto Callispi

_His breathing rose and fell heavily. But he needed to remain silent. He needed to remain still, no matter how much he wanted to rip that filthy bastard's lips off of her face. The tips of his fingertips tingled and his arms trembled with that unsatisfied desire. _

_He watched, his eyes growing wider with each passing second as pale hands clasped her side and gently roamed to the gentle swell of her bosom. His breath tightened as he saw Hermione arch unconsciously to meet his hand. And those pale hands cupped her breasts with such painstaking tenderness, with such painstaking...**love**. _

_Ron turned away, his face pallid and his breathing choked. He wanted to vomit all over himself. A part of him felt shame for intruding on their moment. The greater, more influential part of him throbbed with horror and hate. In that one blinding moment, he felt as if he could stab both of them in the heart with relish. It was betrayal at the highest level: the woman that he loved was in the embrace of the man that he despised. _

"_Draco . . ." _

_Ron squeezed his eyes shut. Her whispering his name. Her voice throbbed with clouded desire and unfulfilled wanting. How had she changed? How had she changed so completely? How had she fallen in this tangle of darkness and lust? Right under his nose. Right under **their** noses. Harry didn't know. Did he? God, what if Harry did know and he kept Hermione's relationship from him? _

_He couldn't take this any more. He couldn't watch in the shadows, listening to their heavy breathing, their quiet moans. They were in a world of their own, a world fogged with hatred and remorse. And Ron walked stiffly away, hunting his own fears and dark passions in the shadows, knowing that these trysts, that their God-awful coupling would end in nothing. _

_At least he hoped so. For he had never felt such hurt and anger in his life. And this was his quiet anger. An anger that could not be quelled with her smile or her voice. _

_He emerged into the Great Hall and smiled nonchalantly at his partner. She smiled back. Smiles were fake. Hermione was fake. And yet, why did he desire her so? Why could he not step out of the dark, tangled forest that was his heart? Why could he not remove this aching love from his body? _

_Because black hate caged him. Black hate for Draco Malfoy, the bastard who stole away the woman that unknowingly held his heart, and Hermione Granger, the woman who unknowingly crushed it under her foot. _

_But still, there was love. And as he danced with his giggling partner, he mused over this love. And he decided. Draco Malfoy bested him in everything -- renown, power, and money. But not anymore. No. This time, Ron decided, he would not stand in the shadows. _

**-x-x-**

_Thy wishes seen naught,  
Thy desires wished naught;  
Yet seek 'ere bought,  
As he be direly sought._

Hermione sat on her bed, twirling the golden chalice over with her hand with one hand, fingering Draco's family ring with her other hand. Home did not feel like home, especially without the boys. She wondered what Harry was doing at Hogwarts. Probably struggling not to go mad. Hermione chuckled. She and Ron both left for home this winter recess. Harry claimed that he would go mad with boredom. It was quite the spectacle. But Harry insisted on staying at school. Go figure.

But Ron.

Was it her imagination or was Ron acting strangely ever since the Yule Ball? He coldly refused to speak with her and did so when absolutely necessary . . . or when they were around Harry. Hermione decided that it was because of something that she said. Ron tended to hold grudges for the littlest things and for the longest of times! And, assuming that Harry did not suspect anything, she refrained from openly yelling at Ron. Instead, she became a recluse as well. And anyway, her tolerance for men waned significantly after Draco Malfoy left her that night.

"_You accept me . . . And I love you for that, Hermione."_

Yes, she accepted him. Even if he had hated her because of blood, even if he was a selfish and spoiled, even if his greatest desire was power, and even if he preferred power over her.

Bastard.

Hermione sat up on her bed as she heard someone knock on her door. "Yes?"

In stepped Mrs. Granger, her face creased with worry. Wordlessly, she swept in and sat down on the edge of Hermione's bed. "Why didn't you come down for dinner?"

Hermione shrugged and settled the chalice down on her bedstand. "I don't have any appetite tonight."

Her mother stared at her pointedly. "You weren't hungry when you got home, you weren't hungry yesterday after nibbling on a bit of cheese, and you aren't hungry now. What's the matter, darling? Are you ill?"

Hermione grinned. "Of course not. I'm just not hungry."

"Darling," started her mother with a joking smile, "if you are worrying about your weight . . ."

"Oh mum. Please. You know I don't care about that stuff."

Mrs. Granger ceased smiling. "Hermione. I'm worried about you. You're neither eating nor reading. Is something going on? Did you have a fight with Harry or Ron?"

Hermione shrugged. Mrs. Granger sighed and rubbed her face with her hands.

"All right, all right, Hermione. You tell me when you're ready. I actually came up here to tell you that Aunt Isabelle is dropping by tomorrow. She wants you to go to France with her for a few days."

Hermione felt an unexpected rush of relief at the thought of leaving home for a few days. "Really? France? Why?"

Mrs. Granger shrugged. "She claims she has business there. She won't say what it is though. But I trust her enough to watch over you for a bit. I know that you're fond of your aunt. Perhaps she can shake you out of this gloom."

Hermione smiled slightly. "Thanks."

Mrs. Granger stood up to leave the room.

"Oh, and mum."

Mrs. Granger turned around.

"Send up a bit of that chicken for me?"

**-x-x-**

"That's ridiculous!"

Draco eyed his father coldly. "I assure you. It's all very true."

Lucius paced around the room, muttering frantically to himself. Draco sat stiffly on the silk-covered sofa, wincing at the hot pricking of the mark. His hand traveled up to the tender, blackened skin. Stupid way to ensure an agreement, it was, marking someone for life on their back where they couldn't even see it. And it would have been nice if it remained unseen to others, as it was supposed to; but now it was darkening. The outlines were clearer and bolder. Draco hated it.

"Damn that Old Magic. It wasn't supposed to show. Not yet. Damn it!" Lucius cursed.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Draco demanded. "I can't walk around Hogwarts with this monstrosity burning on my skin! It wasn't supposed to show. _It wasn't supposed to show!_"

"I know that, boy!" Lucius roared, whipping around. "I know! So keep your mouth clamped shut while I try to think!"

Draco winced as the mark on his back throbbed again. Why? Why must everything happen to him? Draco closed his eyes, trying to ignore the beads of cold sweat popping out of his skin. Everything spun around in his head. Nausea rolled within him like a wave.

The chair under him slipped and crashed to the ground. THUD. His body hit the hard marble floor and Draco moaned.

"Draco!" he heard his father roar.

And there Draco lied on the conservatory floor, unconscious. And yet, the mark on his black began to glow in a haze of unyielding power.

**-x-x-**

Hermione should have known. After three days of lovely meals overlooking the Seine River, of beautiful-faced young men waiting on them hand and foot in their hotel suite, and the carefree traversing of Paris, Hermione should have known that he aunt had an ulterior motive for bringing her to France.

Hermione almost wept when they arrived in the hotel room and she stared into the mirror. Her hair. It was an absolute atrocity. A blond that she had never seen before except for on dolls colored her now sleek, curly hair. She had no idea what had been done to her at the salon -- it was a salon for witches looking for their "new" self.

"Oh, hush, Hermione," Isabelle scolded as Hermione struggled to keep back her tears of absolute horror. "You look lovely. It's the latest rage in France."

"I look like a bloody hooker! Look at these -- these -- ringlets!" she shrilled. Hermione _knew_ she was acting like a petulant child. But she couldn't help it. Heaven help her: _her HAIR_! "I want it back! I want it all back!"

Isabelle clasped her hands. "Oh . . . but you've complained to me so much about your hair. You said you hated its bushiness."

Hermione twirled and collapsed dramatically on her bed. She covered her face with her arms and groaned. "I know. I know. I just wanted it a bit calmed, I suppose. But . . . but these ringlets! I look like a grown-up Goldilocks!"

Silence followed. Then:

"Are you worried that your gentleman friend won't approve of it?"

Hermione sat up immediately, her face flushing red. "What?"

Isabelle shook her shoulders while unwrapping her scarf from her slender neck. She continued to stand in front of the mirror to fix her hair. "Your gentleman friend. You know. The one that you've been moping over for the last few days."

Hermione felt as if her face would explode with heat. "What? Who -- how -- I never told you anything!"

Isabelle grinned good-naturedly. "Why, darling, it's so very obvious. I've seen it: the way your eyes shine when you see couples clasping hands, how you gaze so longingly at those dancers, how you drone on and on about some 'insufferable' arse who never ceases to poke fun at you --"

"It's not him!" Hermione said at once and then regretted it as soon as Isabelle's eyes lit up. Hermione felt herself unable to respond. Stupid! She just gave herself away. A sudden wave of exhaustion consumed her and she fell back onto the bed with a sigh. What was the use? Besides, her aunt didn't even know of hers and Draco's relationship -- only that she was infatuated with someone. Hermione felt another blush creep up to her cheeks. It was strange -- how she still found any sort of attraction to a Malfoy mortifying. Some things never changed.

"Darling . . ."

"Does my mother know?"

"I don't think so."

Hermione opened her eyes. "Please don't tell her."

Her aunt stared at her suspiciously. But then she nodded her consent. "All right. You can tell her yourself when you feel up to it."

"Thank you."

Isabelle shifted uncomfortably from one to the other. "It wasn't my wish to make you so uncomfortable. But you just seemed so miserable. I know. And your mother senses something wrong as well. Why are you so melancholy, Hermione? Is it because of him?"

Hermione smiled bitterly "Somewhat."

"Did he cause you pain?"

And Hermione did not know how she lost control of herself, for a second later, she gripped her head and uttered a small scream of frustration. Isabelle's eyes widened.

"I bloody hate him! I hate him with all of my heart. I hate everything about him! I hate the way he speaks, the way he walks, the way he smirks! I hate him so, so, so much!"

"Hermione . . . "

"But . . . " Hermione pushed down the urge to vomit. "But I feel so _alive_ when I'm with him. I feel so _complete_. I've never felt it before. Never ever. It's like . . . he's the other half of me. It would be so much easier if I didn't hate him so much. But I can't help it. It's like natural instinct. It's always _there_, this hate." She stared up at her aunt and her heart fell. Hermione knew it. Hermione knew that she revealed too much. By the look on her chalky face, Isabelle thought that Hermione was absolutely bonkers.

"You truly feel all of this?" Isabelle asked in a hollow voice. All humor disappeared from her face.

And heaven help her she wished she never had laid eyes on Draco Malfoy. But Hermione nodded. "Yes."

Silence screamed in their once-noisy room. Isabelle stared at Hermione with acute curiosity, and Hermione stared dully at the mass of cream-colored blankets.

"You know, Hermione," Isabelle started gently, "I do understand you."

Hermione looked up. "What?"

"There are no rules that state that these sort of emotions must always be romantic." And before Hermione could question her aunt, Isabelle pulled her up by the arm and murmured, "Now let's see what we can do about that hair."

And that was that.

**-x-x-**

Draco had been ill for the last few days. He spent most of his hours sleeping and stared dully at the wall during the brief moments when he would wake up. Narcissa had been worried dreadfully. It was as if her son caught some sort of a virus, some illness, but none of their most potent potions would aid him.

The fifth day.

Narcissa sat stiffly in her chair and stared outside into the frozen winter gloom. Despite what Draco thought of her, she truly did care for him. He was her only child, her only _son_. How could she not care for him? The rhythmic strokes of the grandfather clock soothed her nerves, but only a little. There she sat on top of her plush, silk-cover sofa in her private quarters sipping tea out of the finest china. And there was not a thing she could do to offer Draco some sort of release to this illness.

Lucius had been adamant about keeping his son in quarantine. He told her briskly in his Lucius Malfoy way, "_I do not wish to see you ill as well, Narcissa."_

Pish posh. Lucius cared for her welfare, yes, Narcissa knew. But how could that husband of hers keep her away from her own _son_?!

Narcissa slammed her teacup down, called for one of the house elves to clean away the tea, and pulled a thick cloak over herself. And like a fugitive of the night, Narcissa rushed silently and quickly like a shadow to her son's room. She dismissed the house elves with an authoritative wave of her hand, threatening to dismiss them if any of them shot off their twisted little lips, and walked into Draco's room.

The room smelled like a damned hospital and boiled cabbages. Fumes of sickening potions and cure-alls brewed in the corner where the healer tended to her son about an hour ago. Incenses were hung up over windows, doors, and mirrors. And damn, was it stuffy! The healer, fearful that cold air might worsen Draco's condition, tightly sealed off _all_ of the windows with a spell. Narcissa's lips screwed into an unpleasant snarl, for she was unaccustomed to anything but the fresh air and the aroma of flowers, but she pushed on forward, covering her nose with her hand.

And further into the room, there was her son. Narcissa felt an uncharacteristic twist in her heart as she gazed at his pale, pale face. How lifeless he looked with his usually brilliant hair dull and limp like that over the pillow. Slowly, lest she disturb him, Narcissa walked up to her son and placed a gentle hand upon his sweaty brow.

He looked utterly spent. Narcissa felt a sudden wave of terror washing over her senses and she collapsed into the chair settled next to the bed. She had never wanted anything to be like this -- she had never wished for such a small family. She had always dreamed of having many children, children that she could raise in the sunlight. But her face was impassive as she stroked her son's hair. Draco hated the sunlight; he preferred windy, stormy nights instead.

She had never wished for a family that acted as three different units instead of one. What with her own entourage of maids, Draco's army of house elves, and Lucius's own mysterious servants . . . how were they anything but mere relatives that lived in the same house?

"My boy," she said softly. "My dear boy."

Hours passed and Draco did not wake. Narcissa sat at her son's side, wiping off his sweat with the soft hem of her cloak. And still, he did not stir.

Lucius walked in quietly past midnight. He gazed silently and stoically at his wife and son in the flickering shadows caused by the hearth. Narcissa's head was leaned upon Draco's high bed in an uncomfortable yet deep slumber. Her small, pale hands clasped tightly with Draco's. And for hours, Lucius merely stood in the shadows, unable to join the two, yet unable to look away.

And for the first time in his life, Lucius felt shame.

**-x-x-**

"Again: why are we here?"

Isabelle shushed Hermione and peered into the window of a seedy looking cottage. Loud cat calls of drunken men followed. Isabelle quickly ducked her head, grabbed Hermione's elbow, and rushed away.

Hermione had no choice but to helplessly follow. It was nearing evening and here they were, two women with the horrible tendency to get lost in high-heeled boots. "Auntie, I want to go back to the hotel. I'm freezing. My toes -- oh my, I think they fell off --"

"Oh Hermione, you can be so dramatic sometimes. It's around here. Rue . . . yes, we are at the right place. So why can't I --"

Hermione sighed and yielded to her aunt's wishes. They had been struggling to find her aunt's mysterious "place" of hers for almost an hour now in this subzero weather. Oh, what she wouldn't give for a nice, long bath with the hot water streaming out of that shiny faucet --

"Ah hah!"

Hermione jerked out of her thoughts. "Huh?"

"I _found_ it!" Her aunt dragged Hermione up to a small, quaint little cottage in an obscure place on the path. Hermione frowned slightly as they neared the place. That scent of . . . heavy jasmine and . . . had she been here before?

They were greeted cordially into the cramped receiving room. Hermione's head was dizzy with the heavy, lingering scent of lavender and jasmine. Yes, she definitely recognized the scent. But from where?! Then she saw the little sign hanging over a wooden door.

"A clairvoyant?!" Hermione demanded in a whisper as the serving woman went off to fetched her mistress. "We came to a clairvoyant? Auntie, I never knew that you were so superstitious."

Isabelle shrugged off her coat and said irritably, "Darling, you and I are witches. I think that's like the pot calling the kettle black, dear."

"Oh, Miss Isabelle!"

Hermione whipped around, just managing to miss elbowing her aunt in her stomach in the cramped quarters. She yelped as she almost tripped over a stack of books. Her aunt, who had apparently been here before, maintained her composure and said in a warm voice, "Olivia. Olivia Trelawny. I haven't seen you for ages."

And from the doorway came a woman that Hermione vaguely recognized. She was thin. Her round eyes gleamed and were guarded by thick spectacles. She wore the garments of a clairvoyant from the many pieces of jewelry to her silky shawls. Wait, though. Did her aunt call this woman Olivia Trelawny? Clairvoyant, Trelawny. No, it couldn't be . . .

"Miss Isabelle! How wonderful to see you again!" said Olivia, kissing both of Isabelle's cheeks with her thin lips. Then she turned, her spectacled eyes widened as she saw Hermione. "And her? Your niece? The one that you wrote to me about?"

Isabelle nodded nervously. Hermione blinked. Her aunt wrote to a clairvoyant for her? What?

Olivia Trelawny took her hands warmly and said with a smile, "My, what a pure soul."

Hermione felt her face flush. "P-pure soul?"

Olivia nodded with a smile. "Yes. It has been so long since I've seen a soul as clear as yours. Yours is a soul that attracts so many others because of its purity. My, what a --" Hermione almost jerked as Olivia ceased speaking. It was an abrupt pause, a pause that Olivia initiated with a odd look on her face. She looked as if she drank rotten milk.

"What is it?" Hermione asked nervously, trying to pry her hands away from the woman's thin fingers. Hermione looked to her aunt for aid. Isabelle did not offer any, and instead she stared at Olivia intensely, tension screwing her face.

"Oh my," Olivia murmured, hands going limp. "Oh my, my, my."

Hermione quickly withdrew her hands, feeling an immense amount of discomfort. She despised all of this clairvoyant mumbo-jumbo -- she simply did not believe in it. And she hated the way that this Olivia Trelawny was staring at her. The clairvoyant's look of utter horror and pity washed over Hermione like a boiling wave, making her flush so deeply in shame that she was certain her re-dyed brown hair would catch fire.

"What is it, Olivia?" asked Isabelle, alarm coloring her voice. "What is wrong?"

The thin, small woman peered at Hermione intently. Hermione shifted uncomfortably, feeling like a small mouse cornered by a hawk. Why did she feel so lightheaded all of the sudden? It was the incense of jasmine. It was so strong, and with Olivia's sharp, beady eyes tearing her apart . . .

"Something stains you," said Olivia in a low voice, almost hypnotic in this dim, orange lighting. Something tremored in the dusky air. Hermione's breath sharpened. Olivia closed her eyes.

"Aunt Isabelle . . ." Hermione began in a small voice, but Isabelle shushed her quickly. _What is going on? My heart is beating so quickly. Everything is . . . so dim . . ._

Olivia's eyes shot open. They seemed so gray, so unusually pale. Hermione stifled a gasp as she recognized those eyes. They were Draco's eyes . . .

"My sister. I must go get my sister," said Olivia in a raspy voice completely unlike hers. She spun around in a trance-like state and headed for the kitchen door. "I must go get my sister . . ."

"Aunt Isabelle," Hermione whispered, moving slowly from the corner that the clairvoyant trapped her in. She maneuvered in between the stacks of tattered books and dusty lamps with fluid steps. Hermione felt hazy, almost drugged, as she stared at the mothy paintings that were plastered all over the scarce wooden walls. Gypsy men with one eye and withered young girls holding bouquets of dead, dried roses stared listlessly into the dim, golden atmosphere of the room. "Aunt Isabelle. I don't like this place. I feel so dizzy. Let's leave . . ."

But her aunt did not falter. She merely stared at the door where the clairvoyant disappeared to. "Wait a little, Hermione. Your dizziness is just the result of your amplified emotions. Your emotions are so strong that they are dominating your body and making it weak. Sit down if you wish."

Hermione obeyed and flumped down into a mahogany chair. "But why are we here? I don't understand . . ."

Her aunt stared pointedly at her niece this time. "The best ways to rid of your pain is to face it head on."

But before Hermione could demand to know what "pain" her aunt was speaking of, someone rushed out of the kitchen doors. Hermione's eyes widened and she sprang out of her chair, mouth wide open.

"_Professor Trelawny?!_"

**-x-x-**

Draco dreamt of her during all of his sickness. There were sweet dreams, there were horrible ones. The horrible ones were rather frequent.

The stone walls of the castle surrounded them both, entrapping him in memories and fantasies that almost drove him half mad. He ran through the red halls, heart wrenching with pain. He heard her sobs, heard her crying out almost as if in pain.

And still the man in black pursued him.

The corridors were endless. One door led to another, the turns leading deeper into the suffocating darkness. Laughter, screams, and sobs tailed him.

"_Draco! Draco!"_ her broken voice cried.

And still the man in black pursued him.

Shadows clawed at his face. Hot droplets of rose-red blood painted the white marble with shocking precision. Like Icarus he fell, tumbling from the sun into the ocean of darkness. All he could do was keep running -- yes, keep running and save himself.

Broken memories shattered beneath his feet. He heard the gurgle of an infant. It was him yet not him. Small squeals of broken delight and wails of fluty terror surrounded him like mist.

FLASH.

_Fingers entwined . . . sweet breathing . . . one moment. For one moment . . . just that moment . . . the crystal-clear wave of sweet fruition . . . crashed into them. Release . . . she took her leap . . . of faith. But . . . did he catch her? Rose-red droplets of blood . . . sweet, sweet blood . . . so salty upon his tongue . . . stop bleeding. I command you. _

_And she stopped bleeding . . . because this was his dream . . . and he could do anything, see anything that he wished . . ._

But the man in black caught him.

The dreams shattered. The castle has fallen. The King has been taken.

And Draco wrenched the hood away from the man in black. He gasped. The sneer, the pale skin. Mirror. He was staring right into the mirror that revealed his soul.

His own face stared right back at him.

**-x-x-**

Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat and traced the purple ripples of silk table cloth with her eyes. She could feel the professor's beady eyes boring into her.

"Ahem."

Hermione risked a quick look up. She could feel the pads of her cheek flaming. It was sort of embarrassing. She, who walked out on Trelawny's class while claiming divination a ridiculous practice, was sitting across from that very same professor . . . asking just for the use of her divine craft.

Even if her aunt was insisting that she do it, it was humiliating all the same.

"Now, tell me, just what is it that . . . bothers you?"

Her tone was goading. Hermione hated it.

"Nothing," she muttered.

Silence ensued for a torturously long, awkward moment. When Hermione could not take it anymore, she quietly stood up and headed for the door. To hell with psychics -- they all babbled nonsense anyhow. But how in the world her _aunt_ of all people could ever fall for this mumbo-jumbo was --

"Just where do you think that you are going?" the professor's surprisingly sharp voice came from the doorway. "I have not excused you, young lady --"

"You've excused me ever since I walked out of your classroom," Hermione interrupted before she could stop herself. Her face absolutely burned under the professor's writhing gaze.

"I have been asked here to solve your problem," spat the professor spitefully. "And I will not leave until I do what is asked of me."

Hermione pondered this for a moment. Then she sat back down, feeling an uncharacteristic wave of shame.

The professor did not waste any time. She spoke immediately. "My sister tells me many things. She says that you are disturbed. And . . ." The professor paused. She squinted her eyes. "And I see it too."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"A stain. A scar across the very heart of your soul. It is deep . . . and long . . . and it still bleeds . . ." The professor shook her head.

The musty air made her dozy. Hermione blinked rapidly for a few seconds them looked up to find the professor staring intently at her. "I don't understand . . ." Hermione said quietly.

"You and whoever causes you this . . . this pain . . . Have you known each other for long?"

Hermione thought about this. Was six years long? It seemed much longer than that. However, she shook her head 'no.' The professor nodded her head. Her expression was that of worry.

"It's as I thought. You . . . and this person . . . You two have an interesting history together. You've spent many lives hating and loving each other with such passion that --"

"What?" Hermione interrupted loudly, shaken out of the mystical mood that this room fogged up. "'Many lives?'"

The professor pursed her lips. "Yes. _Many lives_. Is there a problem with that, Miss Granger?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes, gripping the cushion of her chair. "This is ridiculous! I can't believe my aunt pays to have these preposterous . . . _stories_ told to her!"

The professor's scowl darkened. "Stories? I assure you. What I say, especially regarding the past, are not merely _stories_. Unlike the cloudy visions of the future that I may have, I have been blessed as have all of my kind, to see through the many layers of death and lies. I see you clearly, Miss Granger, now that I truly look at you. You bleed whenever you are born. You bleed whenever you are dead. Someone scarred you so badly that you still bleed now . . . it's all over your chest."

Hermione's head snapped down to her chest. She took in a sharp breath as she did indeed see crimson blood soaking the white cotton of her turtleneck. And still, the blood fell in torrents from the invisible wound in her chest. She closed her eyes and swallowed down her urge to vomit. When she opened them again, the blood was gone. It was as if it had never existed. Hermione stared at the professor, her face pale and her breaths short. Was she truly bleeding?

"You saw it," the professor said in a voice uncharacteristically low. "You saw the wounds."

Hermione nodded shakily, wondering how this was all possible. "Yes."

Without a word, the professor reached over to the middle of the table and produced a brass goblet with a flick of her hand. Then she rubbed the tips of her forefinger and thumb together and from between the two, droplets of water splattered into the cup.

"It's a mirror of water." How was her voice so low? It almost rumbled. Hermione felt sleepy. "Look into it. And you shall see what is wrong. Do not fear -- everything is behind. Remember that."

Hermione, too dozy to do anything but obey, leaned over as soon as the goblet was filled with shimmering water to its chipped brim. At first she saw nothing . . . and yet, her eyes got heavier and heavier until she felt as if she could not hold them open any longer. Her reflection stared back at her in the goblet. And yet . . . the images shifted. What sorcery was this?

Her eyes closed, and still the images played in her mind like a film. She felt a sense of incredible nausea, as if she was tumbling though a wet, dark tunnel.

And Hermione drowned in the anemnisis that drenched her skin like rain . . .

_She saw him many times, and yet they refused to speak to each other. She did not know why it was so, but it seemed more proper to do so. He was a noble, she but the daughter of a soldier. Sometimes, in order to avoid his gaze, she would escape her home and go about the grassland and hum her tunes, thinking of the paleness of his eyes. He was much to fair and slender for her taste, but he intrigued her somehow. _

_He had a cruel smile for her when they first bumped into each other while she walked about, thinking. Her father said that she shouldn't think so much if she wanted to find a husband. But she did think -- and she thought about many things. She wondered about God, about love, about fate. And the bloodshed. _

_The Danes began their plundering near the eastern seaboard. As summer soon chilled to autumn, whispers were abroad that the Danes were numerous enough in force that they would reach her home. Sometimes her thoughts were so disturbing that she found herself forcing hot tears down. _

"_Why does sorrow cloud your eyes?" he asked her with a small quirk of his lips. _

"_That is none of your concern," she spat, wiping her eyes, before moving away. _

_But with those few words, she knew that they had began something. And as he gripped her wrist and twirled her to his chest, she knew that they would see each other again many, many times. _

"_Do not speak so lowly to me, peasant," he hissed like a serpent. His absurdly pale eyes glimmered like the silver band he wore on his finger. _

_She faced him evenly, though her heart pounded madly. "I shall do as I wish." And she wrenched her wrist away from his callused hand and walked away, ignoring the fact that he was the son of the most powerful man in this part of Northumbria. _

_Intimacy was what described them. Incredibly intimacy -- shared smiles, knowing glances, clandestine nights of countless hours where they would do nothing but speak and speak of whatever struck their fancy. He did not touch her, however, and she did not touch him. Their emotional stability developed first -- it was a tentative development. Her heart wept with envy when he married, and all through out the wedding, he would seek her eye in apology. But she understood -- it was his duty. She just did not wish to lose him as her friend, for he was the only friend that she felt that she would ever know. _

_When he died while campaigning against the Danes, she died as well. For two winters she endured, tending to her needful husband while quietly grieving the loss of her friend, her _soulmate_. On the first day of spring of the year the Danes attacked Paris, she died of loneliness._

It was then that they first met. Even from that day when he stopped her in the grassland, their meeting had been a total accident. How had their relationship blossomed so beautifully during that life? Flashes and reels of recollections blinked in her mind.

Uttered hellos, quick glances, one smile. There were years when she would see him once every month consistently and never speak with him. Then she would sleep into oblivion, wondering why she felt so empty. But those times when she did not meet him -- she was so much happier, if not a bit vacant. When they met, _everything_ ended in tears.

_Two people stood in the room, yet three hearts thumped. His eyes, cold and calculating, examined her face. Yet when that tear escaped her eye, his defenses fell and he collected her in his arms. She did not respond -- she stood stiffly like a figurine of ice. How could he do this to her? How could he resort to this? _

"_I am sorry." _

_She eyed him, terror and hate pounding through her veins. _

"_Please know that I love you, my lady. Please." _

_Lies. All lies. She believed those words once. She could never, ever again trust him. She could never, ever love without hating. He damned her. She damned herself. _

"_I've lived under my uncle's shadow, my love. You know what he did to me. He took away everything. Everything! My honor, my estate, my title, my father . . ." _

_That was true. He came to her as a noble living in genteel poverty. Bruises marred his chest -- the thrashing he took from home. The knights shunned him, the squires taunted him. He was never so physically strong. No. He depended on speed, agility, resourcefulness. His mind was sharper than Arthur's sword. His wits quicker than a hawk's. It was what kept him alive. _

"_You promised me," she whispered, her hand traveling to her stomach. She felt sick. "You promised me!" _

_He looked away, unable to face her in his shame. "When this is over, when this is all over . . ." _

_She stepped up to him and plucked the red rose that he clenched in his fist. She stared at the bloody redness, the fragile delicacy of the rose. She threw it onto the ground, petals weeping in pain as it shattered from its core, and mangled it under her heel. _

"_You," she snarled, "and your vows." _

_He stood there in the tower, eyes clouded but unrelenting. He chose his path -- nothing to do but uphold his allegiance or risk being decapitated. _

"_I've loved you once," she said over her shoulder, tears glistening in her eyes. "But I hate you now. And I shall hate you until my death. I shall hate you even in my death. I shall hate you the moment that I set eyes on you, even if I've never seen you before. May you never find happiness." Her hands clenched her stomach as she whisked into her chambers, trying desperately not to cry. She did not tell him what they had produced together. She had not told him about the child that she carried in her womb. _

_That beautiful night of love, tenderness, and passion resulted in the child within her. She had thought that her love, the one who bore the crest of the dragon so proudly, would . . . save her from her incestuous . . . uncle . . . that monster who haunted her steps every night, staring at her with leery eyes and moist lips. But could she reject him now? She would have to raise her child as a bastard. No. She could not allow that. For the love of her child, she had no choice but to marry quickly and raise the child with the man who wasn't even the child's father. _

_She sobbed on her bed. She hated him so much, the one that she once loved both spiritually and physically -- she hated him with all of her body and soul. And yet . . . why did she so desire his body next to hers on this bed?_

Hermione's eyes were closed. And yet, tears that she did not summon, marked a heavy path from her closed eyes to her chin. She could remember so many things. And yet, she recalled so little. The child died from the bite of a serpent. Her husband-uncle divorced her years after their marriage because of her inability to bear more children. She spent the remainder of her life weeping in a darkened nunnery, and she died with a rope around her neck. Why did her lover, her lord of the dragons, never come for her?

No more. No more of this sadness. She avoided him for years. He sought her. His soul was heavy with guilt and sorrow. It was not until much later on that she finally let her guard down.

_The Abomination paraded around with his officers like war heroes. The crowd gathered on the streets to watch the march, eyes burning with hatred though their faces were impassive. Her heart throbbed with anger. She thought they looked like street thugs, strutting in front of the Eiffel like peacocks in their black overcoats. Her eyes lingered on that blood-red band wrapped around their arms. _

_Her lips twisted in a disgusted snarl as she caught sight of one of the young officers who had a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Fair and pale-eyed, he eyed the Parisians with curiosity and triumph. For a few intense moments, the two locked gazes. She was the first to turn away. The officer did so later. _

_The nights of the occupation were hell. News of American salvation thinned as the days passed like the petals of a wilting flower. Her father and uncle were picked off by the Gestapo to work in German factories while the Germans entertained themselves in the theaters and museums of Paris. In four years, her family was reduced to living in a single-room apartment with most of their worldly possessions and kin taken from them. _

_But the occupation proved to be a time of observation and experience. She watched how the officers and their ladies acted. She mimicked them when in a different city, pretending to be the wife or mistress of an officer in order to sneak files and documents for the Parisian resistance. _

_She had almost died. _

"_What is it that you are doing here?" he asked in flawless French as he stepped out of the shadows. _

_She was so frightened that she almost dropped the papers that she held under her coat. Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized the young officer. It was the same man that she had locked gazes with during the day of the march! _

_His pale eyes lingered on her for a few seconds, flickering in confusion. "Have we met before?" _

_She shook her head sharply. "No, sir. You must be mistaking me for someone else." _

"_I do not doubt you. But . . . it feels as if I've known you, spoken with you before." _

_She shook her head again, a scowl marring her face. "We've never met." _

"_Ah, but I've seen you before. That parade? I remember thinking that you were a bold one," he said with a chuckle. He walked up to her and grazed his finger across her cheek. _

_She turned her head away, quelling the urge to shoot him with the revolver hidden in her coat. _

"_I see now that you are rather . . . pretty." _

"_I would rather rot than accept your worthless flattery," she spat, regretting it as soon as the words escaped her mouth. _

_His eyes grew hard. His hand was but a blur as it contacted sharply with her cheek. She cried out and fell to the ground, dropping the files that she kept hidden under her coat. As soon as her knees hit the ground, the papers scattered at his feet. She breathed out. The ultimate mistake. She was almost afraid to look up, knowing that a gun would be pointed at her. So she stayed on the ground, waiting for the shot that would inevitably come . . . but why didn't it? _

_When she looked up, she was yet against surprised. The officer was bent down next to her, picking up the files that she had dropped. His pale eyes flickered briefly on the "CONFIDENTIAL" markings on the top and lit a match. _

_She watched, sickened, as she saw all of the files that she managed to scrape together for three months burn in those red and orange embers. So much work . . . so little yield! _

"_Stand up, wench," the officer said nonchalantly as he watched the pile of papers burn in front of him. "Clean yourself off and run home. I do not know your name nor do I know your face. You are but an unknown Parisian to me. However, I shall remember the next time that I catch you." _

_Without another look back, she ran. She did not see that officer again until the occupation had ended. His picture was on the newspaper cover, listing him as one of the casualties of the war. _

_Why did we hate so much? _

_Was it because we loved so much? _

_When will we forgive? _

_Never?_

When Hermione's lashes fluttered open, she found three faces of hazy features stare up at her. She blinked, rubbed her eyes, and sat up with a small groan. "Where am I?"

A familiar hand gripped hers. Aunt Isabelle.

"You fell out of your chair, dear, and nothing I did would rouse you." Her eyes gleamed with apology and worry.

The Trelawny sisters assisted Hermione up and steadied her until she could walk without wobbling.

"What happened?" Hermione muttered, clearing her throat. She closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to catch the mystic remnants of her dream before it slipped away. It was to no avail. Those dreamy images slipped through her fingers like water until she was left with nothing but a little puddle of recollection.

"You were hypnotized, my dear," came Olivia's small voice. She stared at her sister and they both nodded. "Let us leave them alone, Miss Isabelle." And then she led the worried aunt from the room.

The professor sat back down and gestured for Hermione to sit back down across from her. "You saw, did you not?" the professor asked sharply. "Like the blood, you've glimpsed it all . . ."

Hermione rubbed her eyes. "I do remember. But . . . why is it that when I try to call the images to my mind, they refuse to reveal themselves?"

"Because those memories are not supposed to come to you." The professor looked away for a few seconds and stared at her thin hands. "There are people in this world, Miss Granger, who have the gift -- the curse -- of sight. Your perception of the world is so underdeveloped, so primitive compared to mine. While you only see the four walls that box you to this life, I posess the wings to rise from that box and see miles on end to glimpse the rooms abandoned. And the inhabitants of those rooms."

"Everything that I saw, that I _felt_ . . . was true?" Hermione whispered, hoping that perhaps this was just some sort of magic trick. But deep in her heart, Hermione knew that everything that she felt in that single span of a few minutes . . . she had felt before.

"It's the curse of those with vision. It is bliss to live in ignorance."

"Why?" Hermione whispered.

The professor stared at her in confusion. "Why what?"

"Why do we, that person and I . . . why are we so . . ."

The professor stopped her. "I did not see what you've seen, Miss Granger. I only see the stains and the wounds."

Hermione felt tears rushing up to her eyes. "Stains and wounds. Is that all you see? Is that all there _is_?"

The professor's hard, beady eyes, for the first time, softened when they gazed at Hermione. "They are predominant. But I also see warmth and brilliance beneath that pain. Have you heard, Miss Granger, that it takes just as much passion to hate someone? That love requires that equal passion? They are both opposite sides of the same coin."

Hermione looked away and swallowed down the tears in her eyes. Her eyes caught the dusty paintings, the antique vases, moth-eaten tapestries. Everything in this room was so old; everything was the very canvas of the past. "Why did you show me?"

"Sometimes, to overcome fear and anger, you must confront it."

"Why is it that I do not remember? I wish to remember."

The professor sighed. "It is but a dream, Miss Granger. A fleeting dream meant only to entertain and enlighten, but for that brief second. People have such romantic fancies that knowledge of the past, of another world, might help them in this world to find someone, accomplish something. Can the truth of what happened before help you, Miss Granger? Do you truly think that you need to remember everything that happened in order to survive in this world?"

Hermione shook her head reluctantly and stared at her hands. But she tried to remember anything that she had seen before, and when she tried, she would get hazy pictures of grasslands and the sky. She tried to remember who she was, who _he_ was, how they looked, how they spoke . . . and she could recall nothing. Indeed, it was a dream . . . a dream with wings that flew from the cage of her mind the first chance she left the door open. Yet, she had survived without this knowledge so far. Why couldn't she survive now?

She carved her own path.

"Forgive me, but if you can see the past so clearly, why did you teach divination? Why the future?"

The professor's lips quirked. "My vision of the future, except for in rare cases, is not a clear as my vision of the past. I also have no desire to reveal the path to past lives, the past worlds, of anyone that I do not deem worthy or desperate enough to see."

Hermione nodded. She was not drowsy anymore. The spirits of jasmine and sorrow that moaned and pulled her to that same path were released. Her shoulders . . . they felt so light. Had she been carrying this weight upon her for so long? She felt as if she could fly.

"Albus Dumbledore was wise enough to respect my wishes to keep the past cloaked. He was kind enough to offer me a job position. I may be clairvoyant, Miss Granger, but I am not without my worldly needs -- especially a spare sickle here and there."

**-x-x-**

Returning to Hogwarts had been a new sort of relief. She arrived about a week early on purpose to settle herself down and resolve her emotions. She figured out how to deal with Draco: feign indifference. It would hurt, she knew, but she figured that time would heal that need.

As she walked along the shadowed corridors during the quiet evening, running her fingers gently across the cold stone walls of the castle and unwittingly singing a tune that a woman had sung hundreds of years before, Hermione smiled. It was a sad smile but not an unpleasant one, and she ruffled her hair, trying to get used to the forged bushiness and brown of her hair.

"Hermione?"

She spun around slowly and smiled as her eyes met Ron's. She waited for him to catch up with her, and together they walked silently in this gauzy darkness.

"Where is Harry?" Hermione asked finally.

"He's sleeping. Been up late last night, him and me, playing a bit of quidditch. We have a match coming up soon, you know. Remember when those snitchers of Hagrid got loose and the match was rescheduled?"

"Right. The one against Slytherin, right?"

"Right."

Ron suddenly threw an arm over Hermione's shoulders. She stifled down a little yelp but allowed it to remain there, even if it was incredibly uncomfortable.

"So why are you walking alone?" he asked in her a low voice.

She grinned slightly, nervously, then scolded herself. This was _Ron_, for god's sake! She had no reason to distrust him. "Just needed time to clear my head, you know?"

"You just seemed really preoccupied," he said with a slight grimace. Hermione frowned. This did not feel right. She gently shrugged off Ron's arm.

They walked in silence with an uncomfortably small distance between them. At least, Hermione was uncomfortable -- Ron seemed pleased. At least, he seemed pleased until they came upon a forking pathway and at that fork . . . Draco Malfoy.

Draco looked up, his eyebrows raised and his face paler than usual. He looked as if he were ill and tired. Perhaps he was both.

"Draco?" Hermione whispered without thinking. Then she caught herself and Ron turned and stared at her in unspoken horror. Draco merely gazed at Hermione, his eyes soft and yielding.

"What the hell are you doing here, Malfoy?" Ron spat, pushing Hermione behind him and walking up to Draco with his fists clenched.

"Ron . . . _Ron!_" Hermione pleaded, trying to hold Ron back by the arms. She yelped as he roughly swung his arms and dislodged her from him. Draco's eyes widened as she fell back against the wall. But Hermione merely watched with growing terror at the fight that would surely ensue. "Ron! Why are you doing this? Stop!"

"This is my choice, Hermione!" he snarled. "Just keep quiet!"

"Don't speak to her like that, Weasley," Draco said in a low, scratchy voice. His eyes burned with hate. "And don't ever push her off like that."

A long pause. Then:

Ron faltered. His eyes were wide. "My god. It is true." His eyes darted from Hermione to Draco. "Oh my god." And without another word, he whipped around and walked quickly in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitory, leaving Hermione and Draco alone in the fork.

"Hello," she said quietly.

Draco nodded impassively, the dullness returning to his eyes.

She stared at the ground, trying to calm her heart. Her arms shook with the desire to hold him. Why was it so hard to feign indifference? "I have to see to Ron."

Again, another nod.

"I'll see you later."

Draco watched her run, cringing against the bitter bite of the mark.

**X**

"What in the _WORLD_ is _WRONG_ with you?!"

Ron stopped pacing immediately and turned his burning gaze towards her. Hermione did not back down. Instead, she walked up to him and yelled in his face, "_Why are you acting so childish?!_"

"Because he's fucking Slytherin, that's why!"

"That's not all that he is!"

Ron paused, his chest heaving up and down. His face was red with anger, his jaw locked. "You're such a fucking _dreamer_, Hermione! A _FUCKING_ dreamer! Do you truly think that he'll ever love you like I can? Do you truly think that he can ever accept you?!"

Hermione gasped, her fingers covering her lips. "Love? Like you can . . .?"

Ron's eyes widened as he realized his folly. His red face paled quickly then reddened at a shocking rate once more. "I -- I didn't mean . . ." Hermione whipped around, her eyes round with shock. "Hermione! Come back!"

His calls echoed through the dark hall, and Hermione ran from them as she would from a pack of wolves. No. It couldn't be true. She and Ron were friends! Friends of the best kind! Friends forever and nothing more! She didn't want it to be true, and yet . . .

She locked the door to her room behind her and slid down onto the floor. Tears gathered in her eyes. Ron . . . he loved her?

She gathered her knees to her chest with her arms. What did this mean for her? Could she ever forget that he ever said that, just forget what his treacherous mouth revealed?

No. She couldn't.

If only he told her that earlier, when she and Draco were not so complicated. Perhaps she might have been ready to accept Ron's affections then. Perhaps she could have at least _tried_. She groaned into her sleeve. Ron had asked her to the Yule Ball. She should have known then. How could she have been so blind?

_Draco, what do I do?_

Why was it that she could not love one without hurting the other? And if she rejected both, pretended that their affections had never happened . . . Then she would slowly wither along with both men.

He knocked on the door to the Head Girl lounge. Hermione closed her eyes and tried to ignore him. Too dazed to do anything else, she crawled to her bed and heaved herself up into the covers. She stared into the dark, listening to Ron's tortured demands for her to open the door. He apologized, ranted, pleaded . . . but she merely stared blankly into the dark.

Hours passed. Midnight crept past her eyes. Ron finally gave up, uttering one last apology. "Forgive me." Then he walked away.

"No, Ron. Forgive _me_," she whispered.

She lied down in her bed for another hour, unmoving. Tick, tock. Time passed by, and Hermione felt as if she were trapped in her own little world where the night remained and the days slept. Her heart trembled from terror of the coming day. Sleep forgot her, so she dozed.

_I stumble across the dark halls. A sickly tonic brews within my stomach. My back shrieks in agony. _

_The darkness is suffocating. The beast that I've unleashed lies in wait for the perfect time to strike. The hunter has become the hunted. _

_Ghastly, ghostly visions appear before me. The forest of horrors waits to consume me. The harpies of reason nip at the heels of my own vision -- they chase me further and further away from salvation. _

_Howls of agony. My back! Black insects eat at my skin! They release their nightly venom. I collapse into the sea of crimson blood. _

_Please help. I am dying. It hurts so badly. _

_Please help me. _

_Please . . . _

_HERMIONE!_

Hermione sat up quickly, wiping away the daze from her eyes. That voice! _His_ voice. In her billowing night clothes, Hermione ran through the castle. She had to find him because, well, Draco needed her.

And how could she refuse him?

* * *

.

**End Notes**: Hehe. Cliffie. A lot of dream sequences, I know. Half of the chapter, I wrote when I was doped on NyQuil. The other half was done in parts. I apologize if things seem a bit cluttered. I know the thing with the past lives thing was a stretch, but if you disagree with it, just assume it as developing the romance between Hermione and Draco. Next chapter -- well most of it -- will be pure fluff and angst. XD


	20. The Mark

**Author's Notes**: For those of you who've glimpsed my journal, you'd know how frustrated I was with this chapter. I'm sorry if things seem a bit distorted. Like the last chapter, I wrote this chapter in fragments, skipping from one scene to another. Ah, so sorry for the delay! 

. 

_Looking back I clearly see   
What it is that's killing me   
Through the eyes of one I know   
I see a vision once let go   
I had it all _

"Open Your Eyes" by Alter Bridge 

.

* * *

. **

The Passion of Hate and Love

**   
Chapter 20: The Mark   
By Callisto Callispi 

Peter Pettigrew escaped through the dark forests as if the teeth of Satan nipped at his heels. He felt it in his bones. The very air rumbled with what seemed like _power_. Oh god, it was happening. 

_"The shadows breathe their life into me . . ."_

Winter wind sheared the forest like knives. The tears dropping down Peter's cheeks froze as he stumbled through the forest. There was no way. No way at all. 

_"And I, Lord of the Dark, born from the blood of Salazar Slytherin, am ready . . ."_

The moon shone like a bright white bulb tonight. The half-lit world was more frightening than the black of darkness. Vague, fantastic figures that waltzed the waltz of night peopled the world then evanesced right before Peter's eyes. The thorny branches of evergreen melted into robes of the deepest black. The shrill whistle of the wind laughed at him with its terrible humor. 

_"I, of Salazar Slytherin's blood, am ready. Ready to stand . . ."_

And Peter remembered how the Dark Lord stood, despite his shaking knees, with hardly any support from his reed-like arms, and cackled in the solitary dome of darkness. 

_"I have regained my strength, the strength thieved from me, and I am ready."_

Peter saw it all flashing through his mind like a nightmare. But the nightmare was very real. He flew in the air, foot caught on an uprooted branch, and slammed his nose into the snowy ground. Metallic blood from his bitten tongue sweetened the caverns of his bitter mouth. He remembered. 

_"I am ready. The Second Coming. And I am ready."_

Peter wept desolately, blood dripping from his lips. And in the midst of the reddening snow, he would have done anything to find the courage to slay himself. 

_"The Second Coming . . ."_

The war was starting all over again. And this time, the Dark Lord would not fail. 

_"Blood will soak the countryside of England and poison the waters of the sea . . ."_

And Peter knew very well that the Dark Lord did not waste his words. Very well, indeed. 

**-x-x-**

The corridors were like mazes. Hermione ran, guided only by instinct. She could neither smell nor feel. She could only hear. His moans tremored in her head like thousands of droning bees. 

_Where are you?_ she wondered. _Where are you, Draco Malfoy?_

The silence of the darkness was so loud. It shattered her senses as she ran, chest compressing, heart screaming for air, brain insisting that she slow her pace. 

And she finally saw him. 

It was more by instinct than sight. The black cloak thrown about his figure melted him into the dark, shadowed floor, as if the demons were trying to drag him to hell. She would not have that -- he wasn't going anywhere, especially hell; not without her permission. Hermione ran up to him and flipped him over in her arms. 

She groaned when she saw his face. Her heart paused momentarily in her chest as her eyes roamed over the paleness of his almost-blue skin. Sweat glistened on his forehead, making him seem like a polished marble doll rather than a human being. Was he alive? 

"Malfoy?" she whispered, shaking him fiercely so that his head lolled about in her arms. "Malfoy! Wake up!" 

Why wasn't he waking up? 

Panic and horror clutched her heart. He was dead. There was no doubt about it. No one could be so pale, so _ghostly_ without being dead. Was she too late? But he seemed fine just a few hours ago -- 

"Uhn . . . " 

Hermione's eyes widened. Was that groan from . . . him? "Malfoy!" she hissed. "Malfoy! Wake up! Please, wake up!" 

And by some miracle, his pale lashes fluttered open. Hermione felt like screaming out in sheer relief but restrained herself. Oh god, she was so scared that she held a dead man in her arms. She was so scared that she would never be able to call him names ever again. She was so scared -- 

Dazed, pale eyes scrutinized her face. Hermione felt her throat close, for she was unable to say anything for the longest time. 

"Who -- are --" 

"It's me," she whispered, her lips quivering as she attempted a half smile. "Remember?" 

"Granger . . . ?" 

"Yes." 

His face twisted in pain. Hermione's smile slipped from her lips. What was wrong with him? 

"Fuck," he cursed quietly, trying to sit up. Hermione tried to support him. Her arm grazed his shoulder blades. He spasmed in pain. A broken moan slipped past his lips. 

A wave of deja vu washed over her. She remembered . . . something was wrong with his back. That day when she found herself in the forest with Draco's blood smearing her uniform. She tried to fix his shoulder. He refused. That night in the library, right before their first kiss. He collapsed against her, moaning in pain, arching up when her hands grazed his shoulder blades. She remembered when she stole glances at him in the Great Hall, in classrooms . . . she remembered how his hands would always travel up his shoulder. That grimace was not due to boredom or anger -- it was a grimace of pain. 

She needed to see. She needed to see what was wrong with him. 

"Come on," Hermione said quietly, trying to force him up to his feet. He fumbled but made a grand effort to stand. "We need to get you out of this hallway before someone sees you." 

They were a clumsy, noisy duo. He fumbled every other step and hissed whenever something merely grazed his shoulder blades. By some miracle, the two weren't caught by anything living or dead (Hermione shivered when she thought of what Peeves would do if he did indeed catch them). After what felt like an eternity, Hermione paused in front of the Gryffindor portrait and whispered the password. 

The Fat Lady blearily opened her eyes, her hair an explosion of pink curlers, and swung open without a second glance. Hermione grunted quietly as Draco's knees gave out and he tripped. Her back slammed against the wall under his sudden weight. With a large gasp of air, Draco then slid down to the floor on his stomach and lied there, writhing in pain. 

"I am dying," he whispered hoarsely in the darkened Gryffindor common room. 

Hermione swung his good arm around her shoulders and pulled him up none-too-gently while hissing passionately, "Don't be ridiculous." Her eyes roamed nervously about the commons, hoping that none of the students decided to have a tryst in the shadows somewhere that night. 

By the time that they stumbled into the room, Draco's breathing was discouragingly shallow. Tears of pain pricked her eyes as he trembled. The arm around her shoulder dug increasingly painfully into her muscle with each step. 

"Just a little farther," she gasped out as his legs gave out under him more frequently. She breathed out in relief as she approached the door to her room and opened it. 

Salvation, finally. And damn, did her shoulder ache. 

Shoulder. 

Hermione's grimace was a wry one. Draco collapsed onto her bed, his breathing ragged. Shoulders bothered everyone now, didn't they? 

"Malfoy?" Hermione whispered. His eyes were closed, and he did not move a muscle. "Malfoy?" she said in a louder voice. Still, no answer. Hermione's heart pounded as her fingers grazed his collarbone. She called his name once more, more loudly than the previous times, and when she received no response, she moved him gently onto his stomach while peeling his suffocating sweat-dampened shirt from his body. And while she was just about to pull the blankets over him, she gasped. 

A smudge of black, on his shoulder blade. Breath expelled, eyes wide, Hermione appraised this sooty black mark, courting the possibility that perhaps this was the source of all his pain. Hermione's eyes narrowed. No, it couldn't be! The shadows were merely playing a trick on her eyes. Why would Draco, with his stiff and conventional views, ever mar his skin with some sort of . . . of a _tattoo_? 

With a shaking hand, she placed her fingertips on the black mark. She sucked in her breath, pulling back as quickly as a flash of lightning when she figured out that the mark was not the result of a tattoo. It was burnt skin. Burnt skin! 

"Someone branded you," Hermione whispered, voice choking with horror. Her eyes shifted from the mark to his pained face. Even in his sleep, Draco seemed to undergo some sort of torture. "Someone branded you as if you were their property!" 

And though Hermione wished to inspect that mark more closely under the light of her lamp, Draco shifted and lied on his back. He still slept. Hermione bit the inside of her lip. What was he hiding from her? And . . . did she want to know? 

She rose silently from the bed side and fetched a wet and dry towel, and a chair. She placed the chair next to Draco and cleaned the perspiration from his face, trying not to stare down at his bare chest. And unknowing to her, the newly revived Dark Lord Voldemort lurched forward and collapsed in a black heap onto the marble ground, his steady flow of strength suddenly sapped. 

**

-x-x-

**

Lucius Malfoy was a vision indeed. Lacking all of his characteristic control, he paced in front of the fireplace, his walking so frenzied that the burgundy rug under him faded into the hue of bruised lilac. Confusion and doubt rankled in his mind, like incessant bickering between two children. 

_"Tell her!" "No, don't!" "Tell her! Tell your wife! Tell your son!" "Shut UP! Do you want to die? Do you want to scream under his 'Crucio'?!"_

Narcissa watched her husband from the doorway, heart thumping harder with each and every curse that dripped from his lips. Not for the first time in her life, she was frightened. She closed her eyes, leaned against the wall, and wondered if life was worth living. It seemed so promising, life, when her eyes first met with Lucius's. And she was fond if him still, no doubt about that. Lord, she was terribly fond of her husband. 

But when he paced about like an angry tiger, forever tight-lipped about nearly everything that ruled his life, how could she feel completely at ease as his wife and life companion? 

The footsteps stopped. Narcissa's eyes opened automatically, sensing something amiss. 

Then the hand in the shadows lunged. 

"Mmm! Mphh!" she squealed, the cries never leaving her mouth. The hand that covered her mouth painfully snapped her body backward into the hard chest of a man. She felt the unmistakable point of a wand caressing her side with its unforgiving ruthlessness. 

"Narcissa?" the man behind her breathed. 

Before she knew it, she was stumbling on her feet as her captor relinquished his hold on her. She whirled and faced him, whispering, "Lucius!" 

The shock on his face melted into concern. Then quickly it hardened back into its characteristic snarl. "What were you _doing_ here?" he hissed, seeming more and more menacing as shadows manipulated his features so that he looked more like a skeleton than a man. 

"I -- I --" she began, the words unwilling to leave her lips. 

However Lucius, short of temper this evening, strode up to her with predatory ease and pushed her against the wall. Narcissa cried out in surprise, for her husband hardly ever handled her so physically. "What the _hell_ were you doing, Narcissa?" he demanded. "Were you _spying_ on me?" 

"Lucius! Unhand me!" she nearly screamed, and surprisingly Lucius did as he was told. He stepped back from his wife, eyes wide and hands shaking. Narcissa forced the dread and fear down her throat, and when she was confident that her voice would not quiver, she spoke again. "Lucius . . ." 

"Shh," Lucius said with surprising gentleness, placing his index finger on his lips. He looked so shaken. "Narcissa . . ." 

Narcissa stepped closer, heart trembling and breath quivering, despite her best efforts to maintain her calm. How was she supposed to know that her husband did not wish to hear or speak? For instead of providing an explanation, he pulled her abruptly into his arms and crushed her lips with his. 

"Narcissa," he breathed out between his kisses. 

Goose bumps trailed along her skin as his fingers brushed against the nape of her neck. Was this her cool, detached husband? The one she screamed at for selling his soul to Voldemort? The one that left her alone in the night as he ravaged other women, just to place more distance between her and himself? Her arms moved up tentatively, and her fingertips grazed the silk of his shirt. She stopped there, not daring to go any farther. 

A single tear trickled down her cheek. Lucius pulled away for a quick moment, and the look on his face made heat sting the back of her eyes. He was frightened. 

"Narcissa?" he asked quietly, his lips grazing hers as he spoke. 

She looked down, wishing she could embrace her husband but not being able to (they've grown so apart, it was frightening) and closed her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at him. 

He tilted her chin up with his finger. She still averted her gaze from his. 

"Narcissa . . . please don't hate me more than you do now." 

She closed her eyes, struggling not to fall into an unconscious heap. 

"I've committed so many . . . sins . . . so many _wrongs_ against you and against . . . Draco." 

She did not contradict him. For once, Lucius spoke the ugly truth about himself. 

"Forgive me." 

And with a feather-brush of a kiss upon her cold lips, he whisked away into the shadows. Narcissa, though her heart begged to hold him to her, did not follow him. Lucius did, after all, belong in darkness. Lucius knew that too. 

His knees were shaking. The prospect of duty and love tore up his insides. Was it so much to ask that he could just have both things? That he could remain loyal to his lord and keep his wife at his side? 

"Forgive me," he whispered once more as he flung the doors open and stood in the blizzard. The image of his son, at just the tender age of five, smiling and outstretching his arms in a gesture that demanded he be picked up flooded Lucius's mind. He saw himself staring at the boy then turning away abruptly and leaving Draco alone in the vast garden. Pain pierced Lucius's heart. He fell on knees in the snow and screamed out curses against the howling wind. 

What he wouldn't have given to be able to pick up his five-year-old son. 

But he was always there, the dark shadow that stained his life. Voldemort was always there. And Lucius had no choice but to listen. 

**-x-x-**

Hermione sat down next to Draco, quietly watching his chest fall up and down. She neither frowned nor smiled. She merely stared at his face, feeling what little self control she maintained slip slowly away through her fingers like water. Her hands trembled to the extent that it scared her. She gripped the sides of the chair so harshly that her knuckles turned white. 

"Mal -- Draco," Hermione whispered. 

He remained sleeping. 

Her hands acted on a will of her own. Tentatively, she grazed his fingertips with her own. And courage rushed through her. She placed her hand over his and placed her forehead on top both their hands, breathing deeply. Why was it so hard sometimes? Why was loving so hard? Why was trying to force away the love so hard? 

"Draco?" Hermione whispered out again. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was because she would never call him that again. "Draco. Draco Malfoy." 

He did not stir. Hermione felt her heart throb. She was torn with the two desires to wake him up and to let him go on sleeping. 

"Draco . . ." 

How beautiful he looked under the soft glow of the moonlight. Just like Endymion. 

"Draco, I -- I --" 

And who was his Selene? Some prissy Slytherin bitch with that horrible black mark burning on her forearm? Who would claim Draco? Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. 

"Draco Malfoy. Draco, I love --" 

But then he shifted ever so slightly. Hermione opened her eyes, her heart fluttering like mad at that slight movement. But he did not wake. Hermione sighed, rubbing her eyes. What a coward she was. She couldn't even speak to him in his sleep. 

Hermione grazed her fingertips over his bare shoulders and down to his back. She saw it. It was what Draco hid from her. She only had a glimpse of it, something black and marring, but Hermione had a feeling that she did not want to know. Ignorance was bliss. 

That jolt struck her like lightning once more as she sat there in silence. The realization came to her that she and Draco would probably never be alone together again. Not so very personally, anyway. Hermione knew Draco was destined for great things. Terrible things. And her? Hermione grimaced. She would stand against him in the impending war against Voldemort. But for now, _for now_, they were just two people. Draco and Hermione. Two people unable to be with each other except for in the dead of night, except for in an almost-empty wing of the huge castle, except for in secret. 

"Draco," Hermione murmured, stroking his soft blond hair. He furrowed his brows slightly and turned his body to the middle of bed. Hermione held her hand back, watching as he slumbered. Then, Hermione walked over to the other side of the bed and sat down there, staring into the darkness. What she was about to do was madness. 

"I'm going to sleep with you tonight, Draco," Hermione whispered. It was not at all a sexual comment -- she did not feel the heat that she felt when they first kissed in the library. No, this heat was like a wave, not a tingle of electricity. How had this poisoned romance blossomed so flagrantly? 

Without further delay, she pushed the covers aside and lied down deep within the bed. Her body felt cold. She needed his warmth. She needed Draco. Quietly, she turned to him and breathed in his scent. He faced her fully now, half of his face shadowed into a dusty black and the other half of his face gleaming like porcelain under the moon. She wanted to bring him back. She wanted to bring him to her, to her light. 

And she inched closer and closer to him until their stomachs touched. Then, surprisingly, Draco's arms drew her closer. Hermione stifled a gasp, looking up to find him still sleeping. 

And so they lied there for hours, Hermione falling asleep warm in Draco's embrace only minutes after. And it was the most easiest sleep in years. That was because she released all of her frustrations for that moment. She released her hold on everything, even life, for he held onto her. And Hermione knew that he would never let her go. Ever. 

**X**

It was like being branded again. What was he? Livestock? Draco was almost insulted, though this was hardly the time to be pouting. 

Draco slept uneasily for the first few hours. He felt a tingle in the back of his mind, a little nagging voice. _That mark is fatal,_ it whispered almost inaudibly. Then it would disappear for weeks until the next time that he seriously doubled over from pain. 

It was making his body weak. It was killing off his immune system and sapping the vigor right out of his muscles. Heat pooled in his heart, threatening to boil his organs in his own heated blood. That was what it was. Self-mutilation, if he had anything to say about it. 

Eventually peace settled his body and drove off the throb of the mark. For that moment, of course, but even the shortest time of relief felt like bliss. The attacks were steadily increasing, and this truly frightened Draco. 

He woke up in darkness, only to find that he couldn't move easily. His feet were tangled in blankets that did not feel like his blankets. He shifted his head and felt strands of soft hair against his chest. His heart skipped a beat. Well _that_ certainly wasn't his hair. 

He pulled away slightly and squinted, struggling to see who he held in his arms so tightly. His heart skipped a beat as he glimpsed a nose that was very familiar to him. Further down, he noted the dark pink lips and slightly rounded chin. 

It couldn't be . . . _Hermione_?! 

He immediately looked down to find his chest bare, then looked further down and breathed out deeply to see that he still had his pants on. 

The drowsiness that blurred his mind cleared slowly. As he lied there, warm and content, little reels of visions flickered in his mind. Draco remembered the dark chamber, the one with the skull and the snake. He remembered the candle that flickered out while Voldemort's lackeys performed their ceremony. He remembered how that hellish fire smothered the blackened air with its kisses of poison. He remembered everything about the place where he chose this cursed fate of intolerable fevers and an uncertain future. 

He truly did believe the mark was fatal. 

But what could he do about it? 

Panic should have risen in his chest. He should have been pacing (just like his father when he was anxious -- the two were more alike than they themselves knew) and cursing and thinking. Instead, he remained in the bed, comforted by the mere presence of one girl. Of one _muggle-born_. 

Were bloodlines truly worth all of this madness? 

His gaze flickered down. Gingerly, he stroked her hair and tightened his hold on her. Even when he said good-bye to her, she still watched from afar. And when he would fall, she ran up to him and protected him. Whenever he was with her, the mark didn't burn as badly. It hardly ever burned it all. 

Draco loosened his hold when she squirmed. His eyes softened as her lashes fluttered open. 

She seemed bewildered regarding where she was. And with whom. Catching his silver eyes, she pulled back slightly. 

"Is . . . is this a dream?" she murmured. Sleep sweetened her voice. 

Draco smiled obligingly. "It's whatever you wish it to be." 

She seemed to ponder this until sleep finally won her over. She murmured something that Draco couldn't catch and sighed. Draco stroked her cheek with the pad of his thumb and hummed a quiet little tune with his lips against her forehead. 

Draco left Hermione at the first sign of dawn, regarding with slight amusement her Head Girl room. What a way to set an example for her peers, using the privilege of privacy to sleep with someone from a rival-house. He left after placing a single red rose on the pillow where he slept and stole out into the empty castle, mind wide-awake and giddy. 

He didn't even notice that from the shadows Ronald Weasley watched his exit from Hermione's room. Ron had been restless after that fitful conversation with Hermione the night before and woke up early to retrieve two cups of hot chocolate from the kitchens -- one for him and one for Hermione to sip on while he made an attempt to patch things up. 

_"I'm sorry, Hermione. I really didn't mean . . . what I said yesterday. Please, let's remain friends, all right? I'd -- I'd be more than happy to keep our relationship the way it is." _

Then she would smile, perhaps ruefully, but would accept his apologies. "Sure, Ron. It's what I've wanted. This hot chocolate is delicious, by the way . . ." 

Ron smashed the two cups into the ashy fireplace, breath trembling with anger. 

He would have tried to make her happy, tried to gently dissuade Hermione's attraction toward Draco Malfoy. Though jealousy claimed a significant portion of his recent attitude, he had learned things -- things that no one was supposed to know . . . about Draco Malfoy. 

How dare she?! How could Hermione ever . . . spend the night with Draco Malfoy?! Ron collapsed onto the soft couch, burying his forehead into his hands. Oh god. How had she changed? What horrifying curse did Malfoy put on her to make her submit so easily to his will? 

That fucking asshole. That _FUCKING_ asshole! 

All rational thought fled Ron's mind, and yet, he removed his hands calmly from his face. Malfoy thought he won. Malfoy thought that he and Hermione were . . . Ron couldn't even finish the thought. But Ron had a trump card up his sleeve. The trump card that would unravel everything between the two. 

So deep within the ranks of Voldemort Draco Malfoy was. 

Ron nodded slightly, eyes hard and face utterly expressionless. Now all he had to do was to wait for Hermione to wake up. 

Warmth all but cooled from the hot chocolate. What remained was nothing but mud-colored sugar water splattered over the unforgiving black mantle. 

**-x-x-**

_It was conceived in the similar way that the Red Widow had been born: a drink filled with larvae eggs that eagerly fed on blood and attached itself to the brain. They were magical parasites. _

The night when Hermione slept with Draco by her side, those larvae grew and grew until they maintained control, even for a brief moment. That brief moment was all that they needed in order to carry out Voldemort's orders. 

That night, a student was put to sleep. 

Forever. 

And more and more larvae hatch, chattering in voices that made their host wonder if (he, she, it) were mad. 

Not yet. But the host will be. 

Mad. 

The larvae are hatching. 

.

* * *

. 

**End Notes**: Hehe. Can you tell that I'm a Lucius and Narcissa shipper? Hah, I'm so sorry for the wait. This chapter was a major _B-I-T-C-H_ to write. Such fluff, such angst. And there's more to come, folks. I'll give you two guesses to who the host is. ;-) Cheers for now! And review please! Show some loooove. 


	21. They Need to Know So Much

**Author's Note**: So many things to say. First off, I apologize for the unofficial hiatus. I didn't mean to take such a long time updating, but this chapter was, again, a pain to write. Nevertheless, I did make this chapter extra-long for the extra-extra-long wait. ;-) Thanks for those who read the sample chapter on my LiveJournal. I loved the comments -- they mean a lot to me.

Second, in response to some inquiries, thank you to those people who nominated this story for the Dangerous Liaisons Awards. Unfortunately, due to complications with the nominations process, POHAL was not able to accept the nominations for this round. Maybe the next round I'll have better luck. XD But no hard feelings -- quite the contrary. I feel blessed enough to know that people think this story is award-worthy. Quite the honor in itself.

Third, and most importantly, I haven't read Book 6 yet, so I don't know if I should continue with my original plot or revise it (for the umpteenth time). I will post in my **LiveJournal** a more concise analysis of POHAL in regards to Book 6, but here, I will just say that the characters who are dead will stay dead except for those who are MAJOR components of this story's plot. By the way, I don't mind spoilers. Spoil me all you want -- I got a great deal of them anyway. :) So yell at me, curse me, friend me, scold me, love me, spoiler me, whatever you want, at my LiveJournal and if (not if but _when_, hopefully) you review. ;-)

* * *

**The Passion of Hate and Love**  
Chapter 21: They Need to Know So Much  
By Callisto Callispi

Lucius could not deny the fact that the more desperate the situation, the more withdrawn the Dark Lord would be. The Dark Lord's mild brooding was but a façade, however, and on more than one occasion did he lash out angrily for a minor misdeed or misplaced whisper.

Lucius watched, eyes flickering in carefully hidden horror, as Hopkins screamed and writhed, crucified against a flaming cross. His sin was stepping too loudly while the Dark Lord contemplated his next move. It nauseated Lucius, who had the strongest of stomachs, just watching the enchanted flames licking at the fair skin so highly prized within the Hopkins family. Seeing what caused those screams made the torture all the more painful. Oh, Lucius knew that a flick of a wand could remove the enchanted burn marks and restore that rich head of cropped black hair, but just watching him scream, begging for mercy, crying for his mother --

At least the possibilities of the Crutatius Curse were left to the imagination, even though the pain tremendously exceeded that of burning to death. But pain, no matter the amount, felt the same, whether one broke a limb or had a full body-binded Crutatius curse cast upon them. Watching, envisioning, imagining from the sidelines -- seeing how graphically that fire blistered his pink lips…

It was all for show. The Dark Lord was cleverer than Shakespeare in respects to human psychology; he knew that the more horror his underlings witnessed, the more fear they would feel. Torture was executed effectively not through the pain, but through the show and the screams.

And Lucius found out that even he was not immune to the Dark Lord's wrath.

The curse was cast for only a brief moment, perhaps lasting at most ten seconds, but the pain was so incredibly intense, so terribly mind-numbing, so very body-wracking that he couldn't think straight for the next ten _minutes_.

He spent the remainder of his night at home, drinking directly from a bottle of hard liquor. He stared into the great roaring fire, eyes vacant yet mind wracked with thoughts. He hadn't known before tonight just how painful it was to even _twitch_. He never knew how oddly metallic his own foamy blood tasted in his mouth. Before tonight, he had never been subject to the Crutatius Curse.

Lucius heard the door to his study slide quietly open, but he did not speak. His mind still mulled over the pain, the screams, the pleads for mercy. His own voice had betrayed his very manhood, begging for mercy then breaking weakly as his lord finally lifted the Crutatius Curse.

Soft palms slid down his shoulders and finally rested on top of his loosely held fist. Absently, Lucius settled his brandy bottle on the little table, placed his frigid hands upon hers, and breathed in deeply, finally lowering his eyes from the fire.

Before tonight, he had never known how pale Narcissa's hands were.

She knelt in front of him, fair hair loose and in curls, eyes beautiful yet unpainted. Lucius and she stared at each other for many passing moments. Her eyes revealed truths that she would never tell him -- not in this life, anyway.

The storm raged outside, slashing at the pines and stripping bare the oaks. Icy rain and bits of hard snow pummeled the world ruthlessly. Strangely, Lucius felt his anger and terror die down a little. He slowly held her fingers gently between his own and brought them to his lips in a gentle kiss.

The seconds passed with aching prudence, but Lucius did not wish it otherwise. These moments were his few reasons for living. This tenderness sometimes felt like the truth he had sought ever since he chose the path of betrayal and domination.

Gently she rose from the ground and moved toward Lucius, her body melting into his in a gesture of affection of which Lucius never even thought her capable. And as he felt the gentle swell of her soft breasts push softly against his chest, her lips brushed against his like the lightest touch of silk.

After that brief, feathery kiss, her head sought the juncture of his neck and shoulders as its sanctuary. Lucius closed his eyes, thinking that he should be planning his next move before seeing _him_, Voldemort, again. But for this moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone but the woman warm in his embrace.

"You're angry so often," she whispered into the darkness. Her warm breath tickled the nape of his neck, and Lucius could not bring himself to answer. "You don't have to follow him, you know. You don't have to leave for such long hours and come back, so shaken and pale."

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his hold on his wife. Oh God, if only. _If only_.

"You can stay here with me. And our son."

But despite his quivering heart, Lucius's voice was composed. "It's not that simple, Narcissa."

He heard her sigh forlornly. "It isn't ever with you, is it?"

Lucius nuzzled his lips into the glossy locks of her curling hair, and whispered, "No, it never is."

**-x-x-**

Hermione knew, even in her sleep, when Draco left. The air became that much colder, her arms that much more empty. Even her dreams, once sweet and fresh like ripe summer cherries, seemed so bitter. The night of her fantasies was done.

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes and sighed, smelling his scent, though she did not seeing him anywhere. It was a dream -- it really was. It was a dream in her reality. But just as she brushed her hand against the covers with which Draco covered himself, something red caught her eye.

A rose.

Gingerly, she placed the thornless stem between her fingers and tentatively raised the blossom to her nose. Deeply, quietly, she inhaled the sweet fragrance. Draco…he left this for her. Draco, no longer Malfoy to her, but _Draco_.

What had she done last night? He knew. He knew that she still…that she still ached for his smile…that rare smile that lightened the dark, angry glimmer in his eyes. Hermione closed her eyes, quelling the throb of her heart. When he smiled, she thought him able to be salvaged. She thought he would come to her.

A sudden barrage of knocks upon her door shattered her fragile nostalgia. Hermione sprang from the bed, rose still in hand, and whipped open the door.

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Ron!" she breathed. "What -- what are you --"

His eyes were not angry, as she suspected they would be. Instead, he looked frantic. His body trembled. His widened eyes betrayed his panic.

Then, she spotted Professor McGonagall behind Ron. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat. What was going on?

"Miss Granger," the professor began urgently, her voice quivering. The woman wore her robes loosely, as if she had thrown it on spontaneously. "There has been an emergency."

And heaven help her, Hermione's first thoughts were, _Oh my God. Draco! The Death Eaters! They've hurt him!_

"P-professor!" Hermione cried in alarm as McGonagall grabbed her wrist and pulled her from her room.

"You must get out, Miss Granger!" the professor nearly screamed, dragging Hermione from her room. "Come, come! Hurry!"

Hermione stumbled, protesting as her rose fell to the ground. But McGonagall would not listen. And soon, they entered the hallway, joining other quietly rushing professors. Fear and fury numbed Hermione's mind. Was Draco all right? Forgetting the rose for that moment, she followed McGonagall willingly, praying that Draco wasn't hurt.

**X**

Ron followed the two women's progress apathetically. Then, when they were completely out of the room, he walked toward the fragile rose, lying as innocently as a sleeping lamb on the carpeted floor. He bent down, almost with animalistic grace, to examine the blossom.

Hermione never bought flowers. She disliked all that sentimental rubbish, and he and Harry both knew. They purchased books and quills for Hermione; never flowers. He could also imagine no reason for Hermione to buy flowers for herself.

Someone had given it to her. Two guesses who.

Ron rose, anger darkening his eyes. Then, without another word, he stepped on the rose, crushing it with his foot until it's crimson, blood-like stains streaked the heel of his slipper.

Then, without another look back, he left the shattered flower, uncaring of Hermione's scream of anguish just a few floors up.

**-x-x-**

Whispers were abroad that someone had died at Hogwarts. Though not the most uncommon sort of gossip, it generated shockwaves through out the school. A majority of the regular professors were replaced by auxiliaries. A high-standing prefect handled Charms lessons. Ghosts, dwarves, and one over-grown pixie assumed leadership of the other classes.

The official excuse was that every teacher was required to attend a clandestine emergency faculty meeting. But word had somehow leaked out of a death. It was blatantly obvious -- the infirmary was banned from student visitations, even those seeking a fresh supply of bandages and ointment.

Ron, despite himself, was beginning to get nervous. In fact, he was so nervous that his previous anger regarding Malfoy's incursions on Hermione's person had largely faded from his mind. He was scared for her: McGonagall didn't give a flip whether he was standing in the Head Girl's quarters, though it was strictly against the rules. Instead, she grabbed Hermione's wrist and nearly dragged her out of the door as if a monster were about to attack them. What was going on? Was Hermione all right?

Ron felt a sudden wave of shame. He fidgeted with the parchment in front of him as the other students began to file into the class. He was about to hurt her, just because of his jealousy. He submitted to his temper again, just because he had been too cowardly to admit his feelings to her before now. Perhaps if he _had_ told Hermione that he did indeed started to look at her with far more affection than brotherly love, he and she might have started to go out. Maybe then Malfoy wouldn't have…

Ron suddenly felt very nauseous.

"Ron? You're early."

Harry appeared before him, face pale and hair messier than usual. His movements were sluggish, as if he hadn't enough sleep.

"What's the matter? You look half-dead," Ron commented.

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "I couldn't get enough sleep yesterday. My head kept hurting --"

"Dreams?" Ron interrupted, alarmed.

"-- No, just a headache. That annoying blighter, that fourth-year Hufflepuff, the one that I told you about, kept me outside after he dropped my glasses in the quidditch stands. I got soaked to the bone -- I think I'm catching up with a cold."

In Ron's opinion, Harry looked as if he had caught pneumonia, but Ron refrained from saying so. "You should go up to the infirmary. I mean, we _do_ have a game later today against Ravenclaw, and you know how their Seeker is."

Harry sniffed. "I know, but we've trained extra hard for that game. And we have to keep in mind that even Ravenclaw is disoriented from the vacation. Anyway, I already tried going up to the infirmary. Some aide turned me away. I think there's someone up there…"

Ron stared dully at the pixie substitute professor as it (no one could determine its sex) began lessons in a voice very androgynous in tone and pitch. What was happening in Hogwarts?

"Hey, Harry…"

Harry risked a quick glance toward Ron.

"Do you think…that maybe Hermione is all right?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Why wouldn't she be?"

The pixie's disturbingly bright yellow eyes pierced the two with a single, well-timed glare. When it turned back toward the black board, Ron whispered, "She's not in class."

Then, to Ron's complete surprise, Harry answered, "Neither is Malfoy."

**-x-x-**

"Wha-what?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide, her hands fisted tightly so that her knuckles were white. "Why?"

Sunlight streamed in through the glass of the infirmary window, yet the light was cold. Or perhaps Hermione was the one that was cold, sitting on the cold metal chair with a needle inserted intravenously into her arm and with the headmaster's icy blue eyes drowning her ability to speak. She felt cold. Very, very cold.

"Surely, professor, there must be a solution. There must be a reason!"

And the headmaster, wizened even in his happiest moods, looked so frail and saddened standing there in front of Hermione that she thought a mere breeze could tumble him. Madame Pomfrey quietly slid the needle out and sealed the tube of the collected blood. Hermione stared at Dumbledore, eyes still as the nurse bandage the arm. Hermione had once been deathly afraid of needles. But even as Madame Pomfrey slid it, that thick needle with a pointed scoop-like end, into a spot on the inner part of her arm, Hermione merely stared at the headmaster, not wincing.

"Madame Pomfrey, please make sure that Miss Granger is in good health. I'm sure that the blood sample will be sufficient," the headmaster said.

The nurse nodded grimly. The headmaster turned back toward Hermione. "It cannot be helped, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said quietly. "It pains me as well, you see. But…with Mister Hawking like this…" He gestured toward the bed next to Hermione where Head Boy Gregory Hawking was prone on the cushions, his face horribly bruised and his lips blue. Hermione could not look at him. It made her feel sick. She wanted to throw up.

"But -- but he's not dead, professor. And…and I'll be sure to take extra precautions. Please…" Hermione's voice cracked. "Please, you can't send me away. Hogwarts…it's my home. My sanctuary. It's where I belong."

Professor Dumbledore, for the first time in Hermione's eyes, looked as if on the verge of tears. Hermione wiped her own eyes. She looked up to find Dumbledore's still dry.

"I have no choice, Miss Granger," Dumbledore said quietly. "I've already owled the governors and the Minister of Education. Hogwarts has no choice but to temporarily suspend all those of muggle descent from the school premises for their own safety."

Hermione shook her head, not believing what was happening. This was wrong. Just wrong. "A-and what about school? What about graduation?"

Dumbledore walked up to her and placed a spindly hand on her shoulder. "It'll all be resolved in time, Miss Granger. The rest of the staff and I shall determine that. But keep faith in justice, Miss Granger. Soon, everyone will be able to attend school. Everyone will be allowed equal opportunities. Such discrimination does not last for a long time."

Hermione nodded, but she did not trust herself to speak. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair.

"But for now, the school is not safe for those of muggle descent. You yourself saw the horrible message on his…body. You saw that message. I…I do not wish for anyone, whether they be wizard or witch or giant or ghoul, to endure what Mister Hawking has been through."

Again, Hermione felt the urge to vomit. This time, she submitted to that urge. She sprang up from her seat, ran to the lavatory, and threw up what little remained in her stomach. This was a bloody nightmare. It had to be. She collapsed near the toilet, her hands gripping the walls. Vaguely, she heard Dumbledore's voice say from the recuperation room, "Please help Miss Granger back to her room and instruct her to pack her belongings."

Madame Pomfrey's voice shook. "It's true, headmaster? It's true that all muggle-borns are to be sent home?"

Hermione looked up blearily.

"Yes."

The nurse gasped. "But, headmaster! We can't!"

Dumbledore's voice was strained with fatigue. "We must."

"But it simply isn't _moral_! We can't --"

"Did you not see the message on that boy's chest!" Dumbledore's voice raged.

Hermione stood up shakily and walked back into the recuperation room. Dumbledore was pointing at Gregory's body, his index finger shaking violently. The nurse, stunned, only could nod vaguely. As soon as she caught sight of Hermione, she hustled over and grabbed her by the elbow.

"Come, dear. We must get you back to your room. Come, come."

And Hermione allowed herself to be led away. She spared one more glance toward the headmaster to find him staring at her dolefully.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "I'm so sorry that I've been unable to protect you."

Hermione felt the tears overflowing her eyes once more. But she nodded. "It's okay, headmaster. It's really okay."

And finally, Madame Pomfrey led Hermione out.

**X**

Dumbledore stood alone in the vast room. It was a white room, clean and welcoming. The beds were soft and comfortable. How the headmaster wished for those beds to be all empty. But… Dumbledore's eyes trailed toward the bed that Gregory occupied. The boy's face was marred with terrible bruises and scars -- there must have been quite a scuffle during the night. Strangely, Hermione confirmed she did not hear anything, even if her Head Girl chambers were adjacent to his.

Quietly, Dumbledore walked over to Gregory and gently placed his palm on the boy's cold cheek. No, he was not dead, but he damn well should have been. Without another word, Dumbledore flipped off the white covers and forced himself to stand.

It was repulsive, the damage done to the boy's body. Dumbledore delicately placed his fingers over his lips. He could not blame her at all for vomiting.

Red scars as thick as ribbons laced the boy's body. His very chest was a mess of blood-soaked bandages and scars, as if the attacker were trying to scratch out his very heart. But the blood did not perturb the headmaster, the man who had seen so much during the wars. The blood did not matter, but the message did. For written on his very chest, a message dug into the skin of Gregory's body with the pointed tip of the knife, foretold the impending war between the Dark Lord and the world.

"_They taste sweet, these mudbloods."_

And below the message, right above his bellybutton, did the attacker burn a crudely designed dark mark onto the muggle-born Head Boy.

Dumbledore could not stand to look at Gregory's mutilated body for a second longer. The scars and the mark would never heal -- they could only be concealed. Dumbledore fell down into the chair next to Gregory's bed. What was this world coming to, when boys were targeted for such gruesome mutilation?

The muggle-borns would be safer at their own homes. They would be safer, Dumbledore knew, because he suspected that the muggle-borns were not the true targets of the Dark Lord. At least not yet. This time, the Dark Lord would strike at the person whom he feared most, even if it meant killing every single muggle-born in his way. Headmaster Dumbledore breathed in raggedly. Yes, the Dark Lord was aiming for his life. And this time, he would stop at nothing to get it.

**-x-x-**

Hermione was still trembling as she began to stuff her bags with her clothes, scarves, and shoes. She still hoped it was a dream -- something to which she could wake up and scream out loud. But something that would allow her, after crying, to get along with her life. But no, this was not a dream. This wasn't a dream, and Hermione was very scared.

Seeing Gregory's bashed face was one of the most terrible moments of her life. She never considered Gregory a good friend like Harry or Ron, but she still liked him and respected him if not as a friend then as a colleague. He was one of the most dedicated, hard-working boys in all of the school, and they understood each other at what Hermione thought was an intimate level. After all, he too was muggle-born, just as she, and they both knew how difficult it was to be so even in this age.

And to see him…his lips blue, his eyes swollen and black, his chest marred with those scars, that terrible mark, that revolting message on his body…

Hermione shuddered. It was obvious: a supporter of the Dark Lord had somehow made his way into the castle and did that to Gregory. But how and when? It was a strike against Dumbledore, to be sure, and to all mudbloods everywhere. It sickened Hermione, and it terrified her. What if she were the one in Gregory's place, her body ravaged, bruised, and mutilated?

Hermione stood and looked around her room. The one place that she loved no longer felt safe to her. In this moment, she realized once more how dangerous and vile the world was.

What repulsive people, those Death Eaters; the damned ones caged in their own hazy prison of self-indulgence and ignorance, who considered blood their sword of dominance when it was but a flimsy in-born trait that set them apart very little from others. Pathetic. What a pathetic and mad lot, and to hand them such a terrible power only spelled catastrophe.

Hermione resumed packing once more, this time shoving in her clothes with a ferocity that she had much regained from anger. But she was angry for a variety of reasons -- she was also angry at herself. Draco was with her the whole night. She slept in his arms, blocking out the world because she was with _him_, because nothing could go wrong with _him_ at her side.

Hermione suddenly screamed in frustration and flung her clothes against a wall. How was Draco so blind! Why couldn't he just leave them! Hermione fell to the ground, her hand on her mouth. She felt so sick with dread that she wanted to curl on the floor and sleep. Draco was one of them. The people who did _that_ to Gregory!

What was the world coming to? When had things become so mad?

Hermione stood as someone knocked on her door. Quickly, she regained her composure and said calmly, "Yes?"

"Hey, Hermione. It's Ron. Can I come in?"

Hermione stared around her room, making sure everything was tidy. She picked up the clothes she threw in that sudden burst of anger and finally said as she folded them neatly, "Of course."

Quietly and swiftly, Ron entered. His face was haggard and his cheeks had a gray tinge to them. Hermione, only an hour before, would have rushed up to him and felt his forehead, demanding if he were ill. But after Gregory, after she saw the damage done to _his_ face…

"I heard the news from Dumbledore," Ron finally said, closing the door behind him.

Hermione's eyes flickered down to her bags. She progressed to zip them up.

"He -- he only told us that you had to leave, really." Ron walked up next to her and helped her stack her picture frames neatly on her bed. "I…well, Harry and I, don't want you to leave. We have a quidditch game against Ravenclaw today, and Harry's already outside drilling the team. Can you stay until after the game so we can give you a proper farewell?"

Hermione managed a thin smile. "I don't know, Ron."

Ron consented with that answer. He and she remained in silence for a few moments until he asked tentatively, "W-what's going on, Hermione?"

Hermione couldn't bring herself to speak. She didn't know what to say. Instead, she merely started to pack away her books. There really was nothing to say or do anymore. She was beyond tears, and though it pained her to admit it, Ron's presence was not helping her at all.

"Hermione --"

"Just drop it, Ron," she snapped then cringed. She did not intend to be that sharp.

Ron stared at her, his eyes widened slightly, though she caught the glimmer of despair in his eyes.

Hermione sighed and sat down on her bed, clenching the bed sheets between her fingers. "I'm sorry, Ron," she said a bit more quietly. "I didn't mean to be so…curt. It's just that today wasn't the best of days."

Ron did not speak for a bit. But then he finally nodded. "Okay. I'll accept that."

Hermione stared down at her feet. "What do you mean _you'll accept that_?"

He resumed helping her stack up her picture frames, but his movements were not as gentle as before. He clashed the silver and glass together casually, deliberately, as if trying to provoke her into screaming. "I'll accept that you're not feeling well and that you won't talk because of it. But remember, Hermione. I do want to know what's going on, and you'll have to tell me and Harry sooner or later."

Hermione stood up suddenly. "Pardon me? Since when am I obligated to tell you or Harry _anything_?"

He appraised her impassively. Then he settled her picture frames down into a little bag on her bed. "Of course you're not obligated to do anything, Hermione. But this is important. You're leaving, and I think we should fully know why. Aren't you being a bit selfish, keep things all bottled up?"

Hermione blinked. "Selfish?" she echoed.

Ron paused. "Er, not selfish. Bad choice of words. But you do understand what I'm trying to say."

Hermione shook her head. "No. No, Ron Weasley, I haven't the slightest inkling what you are trying to say. Look. I'm getting a headache. Can we finish this conversation later? I'm rather busy. I need to talk with other people as well, and I promise I'll get to you and Harry sometime soon and try to resolve this mess."

She turned away, hoping that Ron would leave, and busied herself with arranging her bags. But he didn't leave. Instead, he stood right behind her, and when Hermione turned to face him, she gasped quietly, for his eyes, usually dancing with merry laughter, were cold and hard.

"Actually, I think I want to know _now_. Tell me why you are leaving, Hermione," he said quietly.

Hermione felt her heart skip a beat. "Ron, what is the matter with you? I haven't the time for this right now."

He barked out a laugh. It was a grating sound. "Oh yes. No time. No time at all for the brilliant Head Girl Hermione to spend mingling with her lesser. Of course, no time to speak with Ron Weasley, but plenty of time to speak with _other people_."

"Ron, what in the world is wrong with you? Why --"

"It's Draco Malfoy, isn't it?"

The scarf slipped from her hands. Hermione's eyes widened. Ron watched her reaction with cold satisfaction.

"What…are you trying to say?" she asked slowly, deliberately. But she had a horrible sinking feeling that Ron knew about her and Draco.

"You know he's a rat bastard in the leagues with Voldemort."

Hermione shook her head. "This is ridiculous. Ron, Malfoy and I are not…like that." Her hands began trembling so she turned away to busy herself with securing the locks on her chest. So it had come to this: her lying to her best friend. "Malfoy and I…"

"Oh, _fucking_ Merlin, Hermione!" Ron exploded, gripping her arms and turning her toward him. She cringed, but he did not falter. The fire in his eyes blazed so brightly. "Do you think I'm fucking stupid! I see you looking at him! I see him looking at _you_!" He brought her face close toward his. "I saw him fucking _kiss_ you."

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. She pulled away from Ron, her heart drumming in her chest.

"Yes, I saw it _all_. I saw you two snogging oh so fucking happily that night of the Yule Ball," Ron ranted, his voice sharp and angry and hot. His fists were clenched and his face was red. Hermione listened, growing more and more horrified with each word that spilled from his lips. She could see that night in her mind once more, like watching a movie reel playing slowly in her head. But with Ron in the background, that beautiful memory was shattered into the something sunken into debauchery.

"And I saw him, stalking out of your room this morning, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. _OUT OF YOUR ROOM, HERMIONE!_"

Hermione's knees felt weak. She fell on her bed, thinking noting else but, _Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, oh my God…_

"I can't believe you soiled yourself with him. I can't believe it. I mean, sleeping with him? Merlin, you slept Malfoy. Oh, God," Ron moaned, covering his face with his hands.Hermione felt tears prick her eyes. How could he demean her so much with his cruel words? How could he do this, say this, in this manner?

Slowly, Ron fell down to his knees in front of her, his face the very portrait of agony and betrayal. Hermione could not bear herself to look at him. She gripped the bed so harshly that her knuckles were white. This very bed…she and Draco slept here together -- not in the way that Ron had thought but what did that matter now? -- yet while it was so warm to her before, why did it feel so dirty and hard now?

"But let me ask you one question, Hermione," Ron whispered, his voice cracking. "_Why_? Why did you do all that with him? Why?"

Hermione couldn't speak. She hadn't even considered speaking. Her throat felt so painfully constricted, but she knew she had to. She had to give Ron her answer, no matter how much it hurt him…or her.

"I…love him, Ron."

She could not see his face through her mess of tears and hair, but she could almost feel his defeat. His hands, the hands that gripped hers so tightly, went limp and cold. His breathing was harsh and labored but shallow.

Hours seemed to have passed in this terrible silence. Ron lowered his forehead onto Hermione's hands. _Forgive me for my confession, Ron. Please._

"Why -- why didn't you tell us?" he finally asked, his voice hoarse.

She closed her eyes. "I didn't know until now either."

She felt Ron tense. Oh, Merlin, could they ever recover from this ordeal?

Finally, Ron dislodged himself from her. Hermione could not face him, but she should have. For if she did see that expression on his face, she could have prepared herself even the slightest bit for what he said next.

"He can never love you."

Hermione looked up at Ron, stunned. "What?" she whispered.

Ron shook his head, eyes narrowed and lips screwed tightly with anger. "I said: he can _never_ love you."

"Ron. _Ron_. What are you saying?" Hermione stuttered, standing up slowly.

He grinned almost playfully. It was a forced grin. But there was malice in his eyes. Hermione felt her throat clench.

"He's in too deep, you know."

Ron walked slowly around the room, inspecting some insignificant object or another. He continued, his voice shaking but not as much as before. He had a low, smooth voice when he was angry. "He has a pretty high position in the ranks of the Dark Lord, you know. You couldn't expect any less from precious little Malfoy, can you?"

Was he trying to hurt her? Was Ron trying to hurt her? "Ron," Hermione said quietly.

"There was this ceremony, you see," Ron continued, ignoring Hermione. "I heard it from Mum and Dad. They were talking about it during the break and I accidentally walked in on their conversation. Malfoy is apparently a very, very high-ranking Death Eater."

Hermione didn't want to believe it. It was impossible. But… "He doesn't have the dark mark, Ron," she said, her voice getting louder with each word. "He doesn't have the dark mark! His arms are bare! _There is no mark_!"

Ron regarded her coolly. "Who said that the dark mark had to be on _arms_?"

She was confused for a moment. Then realization hit her with the force of a brick wall. Oh, God. Her faced paled. She saw it last night, didn't she. She saw that mark on his back. She saw it, she knew it was _branded_ on him. _As if he were someone's property._

"He's his heir, Hermione."

Hermione looked up, her eyes wide with fear and dread.

Ron shook his head, and though he wished to remain so cold and unattached, the look on Hermione's face broke him. Without another word, he walked in front of Hermione and swept her into his arms so gently. He held her to his body so tenderly that it shocked her. He ran his fingers through her hair, caressing the back of her neck, even as she remained unresponsive to his touches, her arms limp at her sides. "Love me, Hermione," he said quietly. "I'll promise you anything that you want. I know that I don't have much financially right now. I know that. But I promise I'll make it somehow. I promise you. And then, I'll buy you the finest dresses and perfumes and yes, even books. Please trust me that I'll love you and never hurt you anymore. Love me, not him, Hermione. Please. You'll only get hurt more if you love him. Hermione…_please_."

This was mad. Hermione wanted to scream. Why was this happening?

"Hermione, please. He's dangerous. He'll kill you. You know he will."

No. _No._ Hermione pushed herself from Ron's embrace. She needed to think this through. She needed to be rational. She needed to maintain her posture. Oh, God. Why was this happening to her?

"Ron…please," she said quietly. "I love you so much, Ron. You know that. But…not like that. Please, Ron. You're making this so difficult for me. Please stop."

He did, but he didn't want to. "You know of what I speak, Hermione. That mark on him."

Hermione did not want to admit to knowing anything. "What do you mean, 'his heir?'"

Ron looked toward the window. His voice was flat, broken. His eyes betrayed the hurt he felt. But he could deny her nothing, not even the truth she so desperately wanted to forget. "I don't know quite myself. But I do know that he and Voldemort are close. Very close. He's dangerous, Hermione. Keep away from him."

But Hermione did not want to heed his warnings. She hated not knowing. So instead of dodging the truth, she marched out the door.

"Hermione! Wait! Where are you going!" Ron called from her room.

She paused and finally said, "I'm going to find out what Draco knows. And don't try to stop me, Ron Weasley. Just _don't_."

And he did not try, for Ron knew he did all he could to save her from that vile Death Eater's charms. Ron knew he had lost when Hermione called that bastard "Draco" and not "Malfoy."

**X**

Thousands of thoughts and questions shot through Hermione's head. But some were more prominent than others. _I love him. I really love him, that Slytherin prat. I really love Draco Malfoy. I love a Death Eater. I love someone whose companions mutilated Gregory's body. I hate him for that, but I still love him. I love Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater. Ron hates Draco, but Ron loves me. I love Ron and Draco, but I don't love Ron the way I love Draco. I love Draco Malfoy…_

It was still class time for students other than the quidditch players, so Hermione used her head girl influence to look up the student registry. She spotted Draco as having Advanced Charms with the excuse that he was wanted for duties in the Great Hall, but when she went into that class, she found his seat empty.

"He hasn't been to classes all day, I hear," a Ravenclaw informed her.

Hermione nodded and left, cursing him with everything she could come up with. Of all days to skip classes. She then reluctantly swung toward the corridor that led toward the Slytherin dungeons. But she didn't know how she would get in. Even the heads weren't allowed passwords to the other house commons.

So Hermione loitered in the shadows, torn between running back to her room to finish packing or waiting for a chance that Draco might stroll by. She, however, resolved to wait. And she waited for almost forty minutes, hiding herself in corners though no one came by.

This wasn't working. She was wasting her time. She would have to do something civilized like sending him an owl. Just as she was about to leave, the entrance to the Slytherin commons opened. She clapped her hands over her mouth.

By the sound of their voices, they were two girls. One Hermione immediately recognized. Pansy.

"So is he ill?"

Pansy laughed. "I doubt it. He just probably doesn't want to go to class. He's like that."

"He's a rather handsome man -- one of the best in Hogwarts, I think. Except for Gereus…"

"That randy bloke? He's no match for my Draco. And he's so strange. He makes up the stupidest, most complicated passwords because he fancies himself intelligent. Can't he just use plain English, like all civilized people do?"

The girls laughed. "True, true. This time, though, it's easy to remember. Dragon, indeed."

Their footsteps echoed across the hallway. Hermione allowed herself to breathe again. Dragon?

Hermione approached the barrier blocking off the Slytherin commons. Her heart beat so quickly. She was going to be in so much trouble if she were caught. Hopefully, no one was in the commons since it _was_ still class time.

"Dragon," she said clearly.

The barrier did not open. Hermione stared at it, confused. Had she heard incorrectly? They _did_ say something about a dragon. Right? Hermione racked her brain. If not dragon, what could it be? Then she remembered Pansy saying that the passwords were not in English.

Hermione moaned. A million different possibilities there.

But…

"Draconis," she said again, more clearly than before.

And the barrier opened.

Hermione walked in quietly, her heart thrumming in her heart. Oh, this was _so_ not allowed. But she had no choice. Before she left, she had to know if Draco was what Ron had said. She needed to know. Ignorance was bliss, at least for a while. But now, things were too dangerous for her to evade anything she could possibly know.

The walls were clammy and cold to the touch, and the passageway to the commons were dark, even if the sun was but an hour away from setting. She shivered, praying that the commons were empty and that Draco was in his room, at least. He wasn't in class nor in the Great Hall nor in the library (not that she really expected him there). And if he wasn't in his room, then -- then…

The passageway soon came to an end, and Hermione emerged into a stone chamber. She quickly scanned the room and breathed out, confirming it was empty. But it was not a room in which she wished to be alone. Perhaps it was because her being used to the warmth of the Gryffindor colors and atmosphere, but this house's commons seemed so _cold_. The walls were of stone (of course, it had to be since they were used as dungeons before), the ground carpeted with a rich emerald rug spotlessly clean, and the furniture of dark leather or mahogany. Everything was sharp corners and edges -- nothing round, nothing out-of-place, everything so luxurious.

Hermione shook her head. This was indeed suited to Draco's taste, and she felt so out-of-place here with her bushy hair and wrinkled robes. She slowly walked toward the doors that led to the dormitories, trying to be as silent as possible. She could easily spot where the girls and the boys were housed by the shields on the walls. But the room was dim, the windows heavily curtained. Within seconds, she felt her foot catch on the leg of a chair and down she crashed to the floor, chair and all.

Hermione jumped up and quickly settled the chair back next to the table, her face burning furiously. Even if she was alone, it was embarrassing, tripping so clumsily like that. She started once more toward the boys' dormitories until something caught the corner of her eye. Hermione turned toward the desk and picked up the piece of parchment. Her eyes widened, for written with red ink in neat, sharp penmanship was the following message:

_They taste sweet, these mudbloods._

She covered her lips, feeling sick again. But Hermione had no more time to react, for the door to the Slytherin commons slid open and two people walked in.

Draco and Blaise.

**-x-x-**

Draco had been restless all morning, so he decided to skip classes today. Instead, he wandered into the Great Hall three times, looking for something to eat. And surprisingly, he did step into the library. He didn't know why he was there. He had resolved to give up on Hermione -- he really did. If not for his sake, then hers. She would gain no happiness with someone like him -- someone incapable of stability or control or…love.

The thoughts made him angry. She was so damn full of everything -- emotion, pain, intelligence, charity, passion, will. Him? He was nothing but a cold slate of sneers and scowls, nothing else but a mere puppet for bastards like Voldemort and his father. He hated not being able to control his life.

And as he walked out of the library, he bumped into the person he least wished to see. Blaise Zabini.

Then, the rage flooded back to him in a storm of pure hatred. He remembered how Blaise pulled Hermione to him, kissing her so forcefully, how his hands fondled her body as if she were a damn doll. It took all of his willpower not to fuck up every single part of that treacherous snake's slender body in front of about a dozen or so students and Madame Pince. But Draco couldn't help a stray punch aimed at Blaise's face, which Blaise easily evaded due to Draco's hesitance in delivering it.

"Ah, so you're still sore about my kissing the mudblood," Blaise said, his voice flippant but his face lighting up in a cruelly amused smile.

"No," Draco snarled, settling his fist down to his side. But his hand still shook. "I just hate seeing your filthy mug."

Blaise grinned crookedly, losing some of his snarkiness. "Really? I understand, though. I suppose seeing _her_ face is far more pleasurable than seeing mine. At least, to you."

Draco did not even pretend not to know to whom Blaise was referring. "What the hell do you want from me, Zabini?"

Blaise cocked his head. "Why don't we discuss this in the commons?"

Draco followed him out toward the hall where there weren't as many people.

"Ah, well, you ask me what I want? Well, I am speaking with the future Dark Lord. His heir. His _fucking_ heir, can you feel the irony?" Blaise laughed, his fingertips on his forehead.

Draco eyed him coldly. "I fail to find any amusement in this at all."

"You stupid bastard," Blaise said, his tone still cheerful despite his words. "You stupid, arrogant bastard. You impure Malfoys couldn't ever imagine the duties you would have to perform to become the Dark Lord. No. All you want and see is the pomp, the honor, and the _respect_ that others will gain for you. Stupid and arrogant, the lot of you."

"Jealous, eh?" Draco asked, a slight smirking gracing his features. "You want to become the next Dark Lord? You want that fucking mark on your back?" Draco barked out a laugh.

They were alone in the corridors now, heading toward the Slytherin commons. The passage was dark, lit only by a few enchanted lanterns hanging on the wall.

Blaise shrugged. "You have no idea how closely we Zabinis are involved with the Dark Lord. No idea, you simpleminded twit. But I won't spoil the fun for you. No, no. I'll let you find out for yourself how this all works. I'll let you scream and cry and beg for repentance, but you'll ever get it. And I'll laugh, and I'll fuck Hermione Granger hundreds of times, make her scream my name, and I'll possess her so thoroughly that she won't even remember who you are, and I'll laugh and laugh at you."

Draco grabbed a fistful of Blaise's collar, while shattering lantern hanging on the wall with his other fist. In once fluid motion, he slammed Blaise against the wall and held a broken shard of glass against Blaise's throat.

Blaise's eyes widened, and Draco could see fear and shock glimmering in his dark depths.

"Tell me why I shouldn't kill you," Draco whispered, his eyes burning with hate. He pressed the glass more harshly against Blaise's throat, not minding his cut hand. "Tell me, I dare you, after you say that you'll screw me over like that."

But scared or no, Blaise could still think. And people like him were the most fearsome lot.

"You _need_ me," Blaise gasped out. "You know why? Because I'm the only person that's so close to you. At least, in the ranks of the Death Eaters."

"Close to me!" Draco exclaimed. "Like hell you are!"

But Blaise managed a thin smile. "I've not told anyone of your liaisons with Hermione Granger, you know. And no matter how much I hate you, I can't harm you. Because it's the Zabini curse. We are bound to the Dark Lord. Forever. I'll only further your ascendance to power, contribute to your survival. No matter how much I may despise you."

Draco's eyes narrowed. He could now understand that he himself, despite what he wished to believe, did not know much at all about this Dark Lord thing at all. "Why are you telling me this now?" he asked, his voice low. The glass at Blaise's throat did not falter. "To win my sympathy?"

Blaise's eyes narrowed slightly. "In fact, yes. I was bound to tell you sooner or later, and if not, you would have found out for yourself. But I felt obliged to rise to the occasion, what with this piece of glass grazing my throat."

Draco almost laughed at his bluntness. But he did find himself lowering the glass, and soon, he dropped it all together. Draco stared distastefully at his bloodied hand and performed a spell to stitch the wound back up. The blood stopped flowing, and Draco wiped it on his robe, but the aching in his hand did not cease. "Tell me, Zabini. Just how much do you know?"

Blaise grinned, and there was malice in it. "More than you can imagine."

"Why didn't you tell anyone about me and Granger?" Draco demanded.

Blaise shrugged. "And how would that help me?"

They walked back to the commons in silence. Draco thought about this all, his shoulder starting to bother him once more. Damn it. What was Voldemort planning? He was so deep in thought that even when he reached the Slytherin commons and opened the door, he failed instantly to see Hermione standing there.

But Blaise did see her. With a smile, he opened his arms in welcome and said loudly, "Hermione!"

She jumped, and Draco saw her, his eyes wide. What…what was she doing here?

Blaise walked over to her, as if it were the most natural thing that she was there, and embraced her gently. He leaned in and kissed her on both her cheeks, and stepped back, still holding her shoulders so affectionately. "I'll admit it is surprising to see you here, but I don't think I could be any more delighted. I'm sure Draco is as well."

Her face was pale as she regarded Blaise. Then, as she averted her eyes toward Draco, her cheeks flushed red.

It was a spontaneous movement, but Draco strode up to her with purpose and shoved Blaise away from Hermione. Then, he gripped her wrist and pulled her in the direction of his room, hissing at Blaise, "No word to anyone about this, you got that?"

Blaise nodded with a small smile and watched Draco slam the door behind him. Then, the smile still plastered on his face, he stooped down to collect the piece of parchment Hermione had dropped when he embraced her. Draco, in all of his surprise, had not noticed a thing. His fondness for that mudblood was clouding his senses.

Blaise regarded the paper and read the message scrawled there in red ink. Then, he mused softly, "Ah, well, no use for you to be around so openly, where anyone can see."

Then with a flick of his wand, he burned the paper in a sudden flame of green fire and walked calmly to his room. Let the two have their fun while they could because it wasn't going to last long. That one thought kept Blaise at bay, even though hate, anger, and jealously boiled within him.

**X**

Hermione followed Draco whether she wanted to or not. She was still speechless and unable to move after the message and then Blaise's embrace. Too many surprises, apparently, weakened her will. So she followed Draco to his room and stumbled as Draco pushed her towards his bed. He then turned from her and slammed the door behind.

Hermione tried to regain her composure, but so many thoughts were clouding her mind. First Ron, then that message, after that Blaise, and now Draco.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Draco demanded as he whirled around, his eyes wide in surprise. "How did you get our password? I didn't know they gave it to the Heads."

Hermione stared dumbly at Draco. Why was she here, again?

Then, Draco's incredulous expression hardened. "You're not supposed to be here."

Hermione blinked. "Why are you so cold to me?" she suddenly blurted out.

This time, Draco was taken aback.

But Hermione pressed him. She was desperate. She was leaving. She had to know. "Why? Why do you keep pushing me away?"

"Granger, I --"

Hermione waited, but she saw he could not answer her. Hermione looked away. She hated this awkwardness between them. None of them could make a move without eyeing each other, wondering what each was thinking. They always played these stupid mind games.

So she did the most senseless thing she could possibly think of doing. Without a wasted movement, she walked up to Draco and kissed him softly on the mouth. He jerked in surprise, even attempted to pull away, but Hermione had her arms wrapped around his neck to keep him with her.

Draco pulled his head back. "Granger," he said softly, almost angrily, though his voice wavered just a bit. "What are you doing?"

Hermione didn't answer him, and instead, she kissed him again. This was madness -- she never did things like this. She was never the one who made the first move; Draco always did that. But she was leaving, and she had a terrible feeling that she wouldn't be back for a long time. A tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm so confused," she whispered before kissing the corners of his mouth. "I'm so lost."

"Granger," he pleaded with her.

Hermione wept silently against his lips, but she didn't want to part with him. Instead, she ran her fingers through Draco's hair, caressing his scalp so that he moaned so very quietly before controlling himself.

Finally, _finally_, he parted his lips. And began to respond to her in the ways that she liked. His tongue slid against hers gently, languorously, almost lazily, dipping to brush against the most private corners of her mouth. Slowly yet surely, Hermione felt herself lose the control she had over him as his fingers silently sought the curve of her waist, and the once-dormant heat against her legs grew hotter and hotter. Slowly, she moved toward him, closer and closer, until finally her hips pressed against his, moving up and down slightly.

He froze for a moment -- perhaps shocked, perhaps aroused, perhaps both -- and his fingers tightened on her waist. He pulled her toward him, almost to the point that she couldn't breathe, but Hermione didn't think air was very important at that moment.

It all passed for her in a haze of love and sorrow and desire. She moved against him, her urgency escalating slightly with each passing second. She could feel him growing hard, feel his own desire grow until his breaths were tinged with the music of his moans. His hands became a bit more daring, sliding from her waist to her abdomen, tickling her in the most arousing way. Every time Hermione breathed in, she smelled only him; every time she opened her eyes, she saw only him. Hermione half-gasped, half-whimpered as his hand moved from her abdomen to her thigh. She responded by wrapping a leg around his, urging his fingers to touch her _there_.

But he didn't. And instead, Draco pulled her gently from him, her leg slipping from him. "Why are you doing this, Granger?" His voice was deep and husky, and his eyes were dark.

Hermione couldn't face him. Her face felt as if it would burn up into ashes. What was she doing? How had she lost control of herself so quickly?

Draco pressed his forehead against hers, and he closed his eyes, sighing. It was a despairing sigh, whispering of regret and hurt and anger. Hermione groped for his robes, and finally whispered, "I'm going home."

Draco did not speak for a good bit. Instead, he opened his eyes wide, and pulled away to face her.

Hermione looked at him evenly, but her heart thrummed. What would he say? What would he do?

"You're…going home?"

Hermione nodded, and wrapped her arms tightly around him in a painfully bittersweet embrace. She rubbed her face against the cool silk of his robes, breathing in his scent, wishing she never had to part from him.

"Are you ill?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Will you be gone long?"

Hermione nodded.

He did not say anything for a while. Then, quietly, he whispered, "Why?"

Hermione, once so full of intent, could not find the heart to tell him. She did not want to shame him or upset him in any way, no matter how horrified she had been. Draco, however, felt quite the contrary. He moved away, grabbed her chin, and forced her to look up at him. His eyes blazed, and his lips curled angrily.

"Tell me, Granger. Tell me right now," he said. "You can't just leave me without telling me _why_!"

Hermione caught him. She was leaving _him_? Not just leaving Hogwarts but leaving _him_ as well? Suddenly, Hermione realized how much she wanted this Draco Malfoy. Why was it that she opened up to him so much more easily than Ron? Ron.

"_He can never love you!"_

Hermione licked her lips. "Because. Because…Gregory…"

Draco stared at her in confusion. "Gregory? Hawking? The Head Boy?"

Hermione's eyes grew sad. "Malfoy…Gregory's been…hurt."

Draco's eyes narrowed. "That's no excuse for you to leave. Actually, it's all rather stupid. He probably lost his glasses and walked into a pole or something!"

Hermione stepped away. "Malfoy…Death Eaters…hurt him."

And this time, Draco could find no response. He merely stared at Hermione almost expectantly, as if waiting for her to assure him that it was not his fault or that he shouldn't worry about anything. Perhaps he was looking for any signs, just _something_, that she might accept the Death Eater part of him. Draco, just like his father, wished for his partner to remain oblivious to all the atrocities of his other secret, _dark_ life. But there was a catch: this time, a Malfoy had snared a mudblood, and Hermione knew that. Hermione remained silent, and she challenged his gaze, wondering what he would say.

Finally, Draco looked away and walked toward the window of his room. His shifted the curtains open slightly, not that it made his room any lighter. The sun was just beginning to settle down under the hills, and leaked out only the thinnest rays of light. "Then…I'm glad you're going away," he finally said quietly.

Hermione narrowed her eyes slightly. "You…are?"

Draco nodded. "It's not safe for you here. I told you, remember? Remember when I asked you to leave?"

She snorted and crossed her arms. "Nearly screamed at, is more like it. I can take care of myself, you know."

Suddenly, Draco whipped around, his eyes wide and his mouth set in an angry line. "No, you _can't_." His voice was quiet, and yet so forceful. "You have _no_ idea what they can really do to you, Granger. So don't say that -- don't even think that. Because that's what they _want_ you to think, and when you least expect it…"

Hermione stood rooted to her spot, not knowing what to say. Even Draco, who was already so closely affiliated with them, thought they were dangerous.

Draco turned around again. "A lot of the higher members -- the respectable ones at least -- aren't the malicious ones. They cast a few Crucio's here and there, but they are the minds behind operations. Mostly their duties are keeping their Avada Kedavra's potent and their brains sharp. The underlings…they are the trouble-makers. They…rape women. They rape them and enjoy it and then mutilate their bodies afterwards, hanging them from trees in the night for all to see."

"You're…lying." Though Hermione fully well knew Draco wasn't. She sat down on the bed, her heart beating rapidly. She should have known, at least tried to have known, the Death Eaters' malice. What if they had decided to target _her_? What if one crept into her room, bound her with a spell, and…and… Hermione felt sick suddenly. And Draco looked sick.

"That's why I wanted you to leave, Granger," Draco said quietly.

She looked up at him. She was shaking. To her surprise, Draco walked over to her and bent down to his knees to face her. He didn't touch her, but he stared at her in the most intense way. Hermione felt that she couldn't even move -- she hardly dared to breathe.

"When are you going?" he asked her.

"Uh-um, I don't know. Later today or early tomorrow. I think," she managed to stutter out.

Draco stared down at the floor, the internal battle within him revealing itself in his scowl. Hermione touched his shoulder.

"Why don't you come with me?"

Draco looked up in confusion. "What?"

Hermione placed her hands on both his shoulders and leaned down so that her face was a very intimate distance from his. "Come with me. Why not? Don't join them, Malfoy."

Draco smirked slightly. "You're mad."

Hermione glared. "You don't even want to be with them. I've seen it in your eyes; I see it every time people mention Voldemort. It's something of pure disgust, that look on your face."

"How observant," Draco sneered.

Hermione backed away. "I know I'm right. Deny it all you want, Malfoy, but you know what I say is true as well."

"And I thought I could hide my emotions so well," he said quietly, half-amused, half-pondering.

Hermione placed her fingers on his cheek. "Please," she implored. "Please don't join them. _Please_."

Draco grasped Hermione's fingers in his hand and placed the her fingertips against his lips. He smiled slightly -- it was something resembling a smirk. "And what would I do, Granger? Run to my dear old dad and tell him that I don't want to become a Death Eater because someone muggle-born told me so?"

Hermione snatched her fingers from his grasp. She hated how he did that, how he always demoralized her into something no more worthy than a beast. "Why can't you?" she asked angrily. "Why can't you leave them!"

Draco stood and his gaze was cold. "Why should I?"

"Because…because they kill people! They kill people to gain power! They are bloody monsters!"

"Would you call Alexander the Great a monster? Genghis Khan? Napoleon? Queen Elizabeth?" he asked, his voice even frostier than before. "Death Eaters are symbols of revolution. It doesn't matter how they operate. Only history will determine whether what they did was moral or not."

Hermione stood as well, her chest heaving. "Killing is wrong, Malfoy. It just is."

"Maybe in your mind, Granger. But this is the real world. If we lived in your utopian society, there would be no shred of humanity left in us. We're greedy, ambitious creatures that strive for perfection, you know. The perfect body, the perfect gadget, the perfect _grades_."

Hermione felt as if she were slapped. Did he just say what she thought he said?

"And without killing, how could some of us reach the perfection we desire? Voldemort thinks perfection is a world without mudbloods. He's just someone driven by the thing that makes us human. _You_ want us to act like fuzzy little bears that mate and hibernate all our lives."

Hermione was numb. His words were colder than any ice, sharper than any sword. And the hateful thing was that she understood perfectly what he meant. "My God, you're defending him."

Draco quirked an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're defending VOLDEMORT!" she screamed.

"I'm defending my own values!" he roared back.

"Take off your clothes."

Draco blinked. "What?"

Hermione stamped her foot on the ground. "You _heard_ me. Take _off_ your clothes!"

Draco stared at her as if she had grown an another heads. "Is this some perverse sexual fantasy?"

Hermione, in her rage at being humiliated and defeated with her own logic and just frankly Draco's attitude, tore open Draco's cloak, scattering his buttons everywhere.

"GRANGER!"

Hermione felt his hands constrict hers from acting, but she still yelled and tore at his clothes. It took a long while and a great deal of yelling for Draco to stop her from moving at least. She fell to her ground on her knees, stumbling Draco a bit. But he recovered. His face was red from the sudden attack and embarrassment.

"Have you damn well gone mad!" he yelled, shaking her shoulders. Her hair shielded her face. "What the _fuck_ was _that_!"

She didn't answer for a while -- instead, she sat in silence on the floor. Draco held her by her arms, though not as formally. Worry creased his brow. What was wrong with her? Was she ill? Perhaps this injury to the Head Boy was far more severe that he had previously thought --

Hermione finally looked up at him, and tears streaked her flushed face. Draco was taken aback. "G-Granger?"

She looked away, toward the floor. "I…I didn't want to believe Ron," she whispered so quietly so that Draco could hardly hear her. He strained to listen. "But I believe him more and more…Draco, I'm scared."

Draco's heart fluttered. She just called him by his given name. "Granger…"

She suddenly snapped her head towards him, and Draco shrank back, expecting another frenzied assault on his clothes. But the words that spilled from her lips chilled him even more than her actions.

"I saw the mark on your back, Draco Malfoy. I know you are _his_ heir."

Draco paled so much that he looked almost ghostly under the twilight sky. He too fell back, and he could not utter a word.

**-x-x-**

She ordered the braches to wrap him tightly because his voice annoyed her. Her red eyes glittered, but this time, they did not shine with amusement.

"So my darling Riddle sent you as his emissary? Pathetic," she spat, her skin glinting metallically. "If that fool has reduced himself to depend on the likes of you, the whole wizarding community wetting their knickers deserves to rot in hell for their stupidity."

Peter squeaked, begging for release. The Red Widow curled her lips in distaste. She had found him running from the Hogwarts castle in his human form, fearing the night owls that just woke to hunt. He led her through quite a chase, digging into rabbit burrows and the like. But she caught him in the end; she always did.

"So, little man, are you the one who released those filthy maggots into that boy's brains?"

Peter Pettigrew was turning the most unusual shade of purple and blue. The Red Widow ordered the trees to release their hold the tiniest bit.

"Actually, I have little doubt about it. Riddle was always the insidious coward, depending on lies and trickery and secrecy to get his work finished."

"H-he's. The. Most. Brilliant. Man. To. Ever… _Live_," Peter managed to pant out with his tiny gasps on hair.

Angry, she flicked her wrist so that the tree branches holding him revolved so that he hung upside down. She smirked in satisfaction. She could hear the blood drumming to his head as he struggled to deliver oxygen to his pudgy little body. The root around his throat tightened.

"I don't believe you've paid attention in your history classes, little man. Salazar Slytherin was the most brilliant man to ever live."

The trees rustled, as if in agreement. The spiders crawled out onto their webs, witnessing this great show. They would feed on his body if she did decide to kill him.

Peter couldn't even answer. His eyes were so bloodshot that any minute he would be crying blood. But the Red Widow was not stupid. She ordered her tree branches to release him from his full body blind. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, gasping, his body a messy heap. Peter moaned face-down in the dirt, pine-needles digging into his cheeks, thanking Merlin he was alive.

The Red Widow smirked. She gracefully strode over to him and gripped a good bunch of his hair, pulling his reddened face up. He eyed him and he shuddered under her blood-red gaze.

"I won't kill you. But if I did, it would be out of spite. Yet do you know why I spare your miserable little life?"

Peter didn't want to answer, but he thought he should, given how vile this woman was. So he shook his head, eyes tearing in pain as her abnormally strong fingers dug into his scalp, drawing blood. Those eyes glittered in twisted, sadistic amusement.

"Because Riddle and I have a pact. He leaves me alone, and I leave him alone. Simple as that. And killing a Death Eater, no matter how pathetic, would ruin this delicate balance between us."

She grabbed Peter up with her other arm, digging in her nails into his chest so that she could have a handle on him, and hurled him in the direction toward where Voldemort lay in waiting many, many kilometers away. Peter landed near a rock and screamed as the edge ripped the side of his face. "You _bitch_!" he screamed.

She merely smiled, amused, and watched him scurry away. Then she turned her gaze over toward the castle, musing. Those maggots would cause trouble for Dumbledore, she knew. She was not oblivious to anything that went about with Riddle -- she simply decided not to care. But this time, she felt this queer tingling in her body (since she had no heart to tingle). That tingling was worry, and it surprised the Red Widow because she never felt apprehension. At least, not for centuries.

"Ah, the war begins," she said again softly.

And a boy in Hogwarts Castle fell to the ground, tearing at his hair in pain, screaming for all his worth. He heard voices, but this time, it was thousands upon thousands of voices chattering in an alien squeak and tick. He wanted to bash his head with a hammer for it to stop, and if there were such a tool, he would have rightly done so.

* * *

**End Notes**: Ah, this took so long to write! I hope you enjoyed it, though. 'Twas all for my readers. The Draco and Hermione kiss scene was tough to write, though. I'm not good at those kinds of things, and had to immerse myself in romances to finally produce something with which I could be mildly satisfied. Ah well. ;-) And I _told_ you the Red Widow was an important OC. Well, I guess you don't believe me quite yet, but she will be! In the future chapters. Which will come more quickly. I hope. Hehe. Around 11,500 words for this chapter -- does that satisfy your Dramione fetish for now? I hope so, lol. 


	22. No Te Vayas, Mi Amor

**Author's Note**: Wow… Long time since my last update! Kudos to all those who are still reviewing and waiting ever-so patiently! Thank you, thank you! I hope this chapter is worth the wait!

* * *

**The Passion of Hate and Love**  
Chapter 22: No Te Vayas, Mi Amor  
By Callisto Callispi

Draco stared at her, his eyes wide. Then, he cringed, dread dropping like dead weight down his stomach. "Wh-what did you say?" he asked carefully, making sure his voice didn't betray any emotion. Lucius would have been proud of him.

Hermione spoke in tired whispers now. "I…I know about the mark. I know…you're _his_ heir."

Draco sculpted his face into a cold stone mask. "And Weasley told you…this?" His voice did not reveal anything -- no horror, no shame, no regret. "How does he know?"

"I…can't tell you that; I don't know myself," she said quietly. "Is it true?"

Draco and she remained in silence for the longest of times. Draco wanted to grab her, shake her, do _something_! But what could he do? He couldn't kill her. Even if murder were legal, he couldn't kill Hermione. Oh, Merlin. What would his father do if he got the word that Hermione knew about his mark? Draco paled at the thought.

"Granger," he said, crawling toward her.

Hermione stared at him for a few moments then turned her head.

"_Granger_," he said more firmly. When she did not heed him, he sat up and grabbed her chin. He brought her face up close to his so they were mere centimeters apart. Her eyes were wide, her breaths hot against his lips. But Draco did not release her from his gaze. His pale eyes held her dark ones so that she did not even dare blink.

"You won't tell anyone about this," Draco said, his voice low. "Promise me."

Hermione eyes widened, eyes glistening. "You…you _do_ have the mark." She said it as if she didn't believe it. Perhaps she didn't want to.

Draco let go of her face and back away, rubbing his eyes with both hands. What a damn mess. What could he say? He was the Dark Lord's heir, but back then, he had no regrets. He was one for power and respect, if not the Cause as well. Now, everything was a muddled mess. "Granger, promise me."

"No."

Draco sighed. He expected this. "Promise me."

"NO!"

Draco did not insist anything anymore. Instead, he calculated his next response. Of course, that's what he should have been doing from the start. He couldn't control Hermione with threats. She was a Gryffindor, after all. "Granger…please."

"No!" But this time, she hesitated slightly.

Draco remained silent. As he knew she would, Hermione spoke up.

"Why?" she asked. "We need to tell someone, Malfoy. Voldemort, oh my God, Malfoy what in the world were you thinking! You don't make deals with the Devil! He uses you and throws you away in the end --"

"Oh, I fucking _know_, Granger!" he suddenly raged, standing up and pacing furiously in front of her. "You think I don't know that by now? Do you think I'm that stupid? They lied to me, and like the power-hungry idiot I was, I drank in all of it! I fucking hate myself too, Granger."

"I don't hate you," Hermione said quietly.

"You don't know how much I despise my naïveté. I don't _want_ it anymore, can't you see?"

Draco paused slightly. Was he telling the truth? Because if this was the truth, he hadn't told himself before. Hermione still sat on the floor, her knees folded under her. He felt a sudden pang in his heart. Her offer to take him with her away from before sounded awfully tempting. But he couldn't take it. No one fled from the Dark Lord and got away with it for long -- they would analyze him, try to find his weaknesses no matter how long it took. They would send spies. They would keep watch over him in the guise of beasts, birds, children, insects if not for months then years. Then, when they uncovered every single bit of his life, they would torture him before killing him. But no matter how gruesome the death, they would break him first. By breaking him, they would kill those closest to him. Mother…Father, probably as well. And…_Hermione_. Draco suddenly wanted to throw up. He felt so trapped.

"We could tell Dumbledore," Hermione said quietly. "He'd know what to do."

Draco scoffed at the suggestion. "Think about it, Granger. If Weasley got a whiff of this, Dumbledore would probably know the time, date, and place this all happened, and even now, he hasn't lifted a finger to help me. I doubt that he would even if I went on my knees begging -- not that I would. I still have my pride, Granger." Draco's eyes darkened slightly. "Sometimes, I think it's the only thing I have left within me."

Draco couldn't see the expression on her face. Dusk fell heavily over his room, and he could barely see his hand in front of his nose. The Quidditch stands to the far west glowed orange and yellow from the lights in the distance. He almost forgot -- Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor today. Everyone would be there. Yet, such things seemed so trivial to him. Quidditch -- what did that matter in the whole scheme of things right now?

He wanted to rip his hair out, but just barely resisted the urge. He had to be strong. He couldn't break down. Because if he did break down, Hermione would as well, and he couldn't afford to have her make mistakes on behalf of him. They wouldn't only kill him. And even if Hermione did escape, how could she live on, knowing that her actions harmed him? At times, Draco marveled at his ability to calculate each and every step ahead of him -- right now, he was grateful for that insight.

"What are you going to do?"

Draco turned his tired eyes down upon her shadowed form. He didn't answer. He heard her expel a heavy breath -- something that she had held for a long time.

"Are you going to go to him?"

"Granger --"

"Don't lie to me now, Malfoy. You've always lied to me, tricked me, used me…" She stood, her voice shaking, rising with every word. "So don't you _dare_ lie to me now! Don't you _DARE_! Just…" Hermione trailed off, turning her head. "Just…tell me the truth. Is that so hard?"

Draco stared down at the ground. "Yes."

"Why?"

A cheer rose from the quidditch stands. Someone must have made a goal, Gryffindor by the red and golden glow of the quick succession of fireworks.

"Because. Because I'm afraid of what you'll think of me."

Hermione turned and walked up to him, clasping her hands with his. She stood with him like that for a long time. "That's not the reason," she said in a manner as if dragging the words out of her mouth. Draco stared at her.

"What?" he asked as she turned away from him and pulled her cloak tighter over herself. He made a move to grab her arm, but she pulled herself away. "What are you trying to imply?"

Hermione faced him, Draco struggling to read her expression. He wasn't successful -- perhaps it was the darkness, or perhaps she possessed a mask as cold as he did. Perhaps they were not so different.

"You know that's not the reason. You _know_ it just as well as I that I nor my thoughts could never stray you from the path you have chosen, no matter how highly you think of me. Because in the end, there is only you, only Draco Malfoy."

Draco felt the blood rush up to his head. "So that's it? You're going to leave me with those words?" Draco slammed his fist down upon his bed stand, ignoring the pain shooting up through his knuckles. "Cold wench. Cold, cold wench. What do you _want_ from me? What more do you want! I try to help you, risking my own fucking life! I've reduced myself to a dog in front of you, pleading that you go home! I've bartered my own sanity, offered it as collateral, by attempting to salvage the one thing in the whole world that Voldemort wishes to destroy! I've spent the last month trying to save a muggle-born witch, _knowing_ that heir or not, Voldemort would torture me until I ended up half-mad! And you say that I only think of myself? Think only of my own hide? I didn't know you were so blind, so ungrateful, so petulant. I've tried to protect _you_, to save _you_! So how can you accuse me of this?"

"'Save me' as if you would a piece of meat to enjoy later on, then?" Hermione shot back. "Because right now, that's all I am to you. Nothing but a special treat after the great Draco Malfoy conquests over his foes and establishes himself as the Supreme Prince of the Universe." Hermione paused as she caught the furious look on his face and wondered if she should continue. But like Draco, she knew well herself that she couldn't stop there. Not after drawing the first wound; she would have to complete her offensive.

"No matter what I say, you will never make your stray from the path of your own choosing." Hermione closed her eyes. Merlin. What was she saying? "Because you can't stand being wrong and if someone tells you you're wrong, I think you'd go insane with anger and disbelief. It's difficult, I know, living like that. Because you know, you and I are not so different. And I can tell you, no one but you will ever shape your life. People may try, but you will never allow it."

Draco stared at her, his eyes narrowing slightly in disbelief and was it hurt?

"You know it's true," Hermione replied quietly. Was that the finish, then? Was she going stand there silently, waiting for his response? Even if she wanted to, she couldn't say anything else. What more was there to say? Nothing more, for her anyway.

She stood there for a few more minutes in his room, quietly braving the chilly silence. Draco stared at her, his gaze frozen as if he couldn't look away. Hermione stared down at her feet, unable to face the hurt she caused him. _I'm sorry…but I had to tell you. Lies can't win you, not now nor ever. So I had to tell you the truth. I had to tell you because I want you to come with me. _Hermione forced her head up to stare at him, her eyes pleading in their silent way. Draco breathed out shakily, though he did his best to hide it.

"I'm sorry."

Heat rushed up to her eyes. Her lips curled forcefully up into a small, quick smile that fell as soon as she turned around toward the door.

"You know, someone told me something that I wished with all my heart was wrong," Hermione said, pausing in front of the door.

Draco didn't say anything.

"But, I think some wishes aren't ever meant to come true." Hermione looked over her shoulder and allowed a quivering smile to grace her lips. "Do you know what that someone told me?" Her heart burned in her chest. How did it come to this? "He told me…he told me that…you could never love me."

And without allowing him to utter one more word, she fled from his room and through the empty common room into the hallway.

**-x-x-**

A shadow stained the dimly lit corridor like a soot-covered ghost, though the caster's humanity was painfully obvious as he stepped into the light. Blaise Zabini drew back his hood, eyes narrowing slightly as he reached out his arm. His fingertips grazed the cold, rough stonewalls of the castle as he walked slowly, deliberately.

Not much time left now, and the day of unveiling drew near. Blaise, however, did not feel ready for anything. All of his desire to uncover those ancient secrets and please his master all but withered and died with the declaration of Draco's future inheritance of the Dark Lord's domain.

Blaise grit his teeth and pressed his hand more harshly against the cold stone, painfully chafing the pads of his fingers. He welcomed the pain. Pain drew his attention from anger. Anger made people foolish, and he could not risk being a fool now, especially with everything close to being solved.

With an impressive amount of willpower, Blaise calmed his facial features to that of a blasé student going about his classes and breathed in deeply. No anger. Not now. Later, but not now.

Blaise kept his gaze mild, though his jaw was strained from clamping it so tightly. His brain ached dully as flashbacks of his childhood threatened to spill out from the abused, weakened dam of his brain.

He learned things that children should not have even heard of. He thought of things that children should not have even known existed. The Zabinis preened him since his birth in their own cold, quiet methods for the next uprising of the Dark Lord right after his defeat against Harry Potter. When everyone else thought him killed, when the Death Eaters pulled down their sleeves over their marks, when the champagne bottles burst open, the Zabinis stood quietly in the shadows, plotting the return of the Dark Lord and calculating the continuation of the Dark Lord's legacy after waging another War.

How was it that some snot-nosed, spoiled, arrogant Slytherin whose family lineage only boasted generations of frivolous muggle-hating wizards ever ascend above the loyal Zabinis? The very same Zabinis who assisted the great Salazar Slytherin in his conquests a thousand years ago? The very same Zabinis who, upon Salazar's death, vowed to nurture and protect his descendants, no matter how long that would take?

Blaise sneered. All of his expectations, all of his impeccable investigations, all of his quiet suffering as the Zabini clan argued this and that over every insignificant aspect of his life… All for _nothing_.

Blaise walked the corridors, his heart burning a hole through his chest. He needed to walk faster. Staring at the floor only made his head wander into the dark, unwelcome depths of his traitorous assumptions.

He walked more quickly, almost desperately. He needed to analyze something, think of something other than the downward spiral his life was. Blaise's heart thumped in his chest as soon as he reached the corner where the painting of the two dragons lay in waiting. But as soon as he stepped into the soft light of the torches, the breath he was holding escaped through his lips.

She heard him and looked over her shoulder. "Blaise?"

Blaise stared at her, eyes wide. "Hermione?"

They stared at each other for a few more seconds in utter stillness. Then Hermione grimaced slightly and shifted on her feet. "Blaise." Her voice was dry.

His eyes narrowed. How dare she be here of all times? Why wouldn't the world just let him wallow in his own dreary thoughts for a few minutes? Why must he always cast away his own true feelings and put on his mask? For that's what he did. His lived his whole life with his true face behind his mask, acting and speaking as others instructed him to. "What are you doing here?" Blaise asked calmly, disinterestedly, though her answer was very important to him. Did she feel the pull of the painting as well? This little mudblood who had made the usually easily controlled Draco so volatile and unpredictable? "Well?" he demanded as she neglected to answer.

"Why shouldn't I be here?" she asked quietly.

Blaise grinned, though happy was the last thing he felt after getting his answer taken from him. Instead, he shot at a different angle. "I hope you've enjoyed your time with Draco Malfoy."

Hermione stared at him evenly. Not a flicker of emotion shot across her cold stare, and that made Blaise a little uneasy. He expected her to reveal something, anything to give him the edge. They would have to play on equal terms if he didn't think of anything quickly.

"Who would have thought, though. Gryffindor and Slytherin. Together. Willingly." Blaise walked toward Hermione, his eyes not leaving hers. "Lion and snake. Mudblood and pureblood. So very interesting."

"Is it really that important?" Hermione said, her voice low and without emotion.

The torch above them flickered, draping shadows over their features. Blaise's eyes gleamed with the fire, shining like rubies one minute and shadowing them into endless pits the next. "Filthy animals."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. But her voice remained neutral. "I meant Draco and I being together. Is it really that important?"

Blaise smiled.

"Will you tell his father?"

"If it serves me, yes."

Hermione nodded slightly. She knew how the Slytherin mind worked. "Will his father try to hurt him?"

Blaise answered before he could stop himself. "Yes, but to an extent." He paused, wondering if he should venture further into murky waters. "There are worst things Draco could have and might do."

To Blaise's surprise, Hermione did not ask what those worse things were as he expected her to. Instead, she walked up to him slowly, deliberately, as if she knew he would not run away. Blaise held his ground, even as she was but a millimeter away from him -- so close that he felt the heat radiate off her body. She stared at his chest and he at the top of her head. Blaise breathed in, aware of the scent of her shampoo and her feminity.

"Am I filthy, Blaise?" she whispered.

Blaise closed his eyes and opened them again. "Yes."

"Am I an animal?" she asked again, her voice growing softer but so much deeper.

"Yes."

Her hands suddenly latched onto both of his arms, nails digging into his skin even against the cotton of his Slytherin sweater.

Blaise stood rigidly. He didn't know how to respond. Even his mind, which should have been running rapid mental circles to flip the tables and tilt the game to his advantage, was a stark, white blank.

"Blaise," Hermione whispered, her voice ragged. Her nails dig more and more deeply into his arms. He would bear her marks if she didn't let go soon. "I don't believe you."

He breathed in. "You should," he replied throatily, wincing as her nails caused the sweater to chafe against his skin.

Hermione got on her toes and tilted her head up so that her lips were against his ear. Her breath was hot and slow. "It's so unfair sometimes. Those words, those thoughts…" Her voice tickled his skin and sent shivers down his spine. "Do you hate me?"

Blaise pulled back slightly, back rigid, though she still had her hands latched onto his arms. He could lie; he knew he could. He was in Slytherin: he was supposed to manipulate and play and seduce the opponent. But this lioness's fiery passion razed his cold calculation and left his body tingling with her fire. "No."

The two stayed like that for a few more minutes, though it seemed to pass like seconds. Neither thought of anything. Just the intensity of each other's stare was too much to manage. It was Hermione, however, that backed away. Her nails slowly retreated and Blaise, so trapped by her gaze as she was by his, didn't even acknowledge the throbbing pounding of blood in the veins of his skin. She backed away, slowly, her eyes never leaving Blaise's, and finally backed into the shadows where the darkness granted her refuge from the all-seeing light.

When Blaise tried following her a few moments later, he all but reached for air, the only proof of her presence the moment before being the distant echo of her footsteps whispering through the hall.

**-x-x-**

Emiliano Zabini, a native of the Mediterranean, was one of the most durable men of the extended Zabini clan. The outer circle of Zabinis regarded him with awe, and the most powerful of the inner circle, those with the monetary, magical, and political power respected him for the unflinching wizard he was. He seemed to have no weaknesses, no qualms in regards neither to women nor to power.

However, the usually stoic young man's face twisted in anguish as he found himself stand in a land of gray and white. He flung his arms around himself and clenched his teeth together to stop the shivering, though it was to no avail. For most of his life, he lived with the heat and could easily stand the blistering sun. Snow, however, was almost foreign to him. He had taken extra care with his dress before apparating here: thick fur boots that went up above his knees, a winter coat designed especially for Antarctic explorers, hat, muffler, and gloves. However, victim of the murderous wind, he might as well have stood naked. Yet he forced himself to walk, picking up one booted foot out of the snow and taking one difficult step. Because of security spells and enchantments, apparating straight into the building itself was impossible. Portkeys as well did not function inside the building. The closest one could apparate was about one hundred meters from the stronghold, which was just the same as committing suicide since the cold could kill instantly if precautions were not observed. Not to mention one could easily get lost in the snowy terrain.

Emiliano breathed out through his muffler as soon as he saw the telltale signs of the black gate, even cloaked in white and gray against the heavy snowfall. He did not need to alert them of his presence. They had been expecting him, and as soon as he walked up to the gate the keeper appeared on the side in all black -- a shocking contrast to this entire hazy wintry gray ambience.

"I bow to you from the path of darkness, repenting evils I have never committed," came the voice, cold and clear though almost lost against the shill shrieking of the winter wind.

"I bow to you from the path of darkness, delivering the justice many claim as evil," replied Emiliano, his voice reduced to but a hoarse whisper form the cold.

The black gate swung open with a shrill, extended creak as if the port keeper were stretching the noise like a rubber band. Emiliano entered, trying not to walk too quickly and display his impatience. The port keeper drew up his black hood and took the lead almost immediately. Emiliano followed, uncaring of such displays of arrogance on the port keeper's part.

The prison stronghold was abandoned and as a consequence neglected to either rot from the inside out or to collapse with the freezing gust of the region. Emiliano's eyes narrowed slightly as the stone fortress slowly emerged within the thickening snowfall. It was ridiculous that they even had to be here. Emiliano hated how they hid, just like frightened rats. He preferred to face his opponent head on and fight, not run away like a kicked dog with his tail between his legs. Emiliano sighed through his muffler. Apparently, the Ministry (and consequently Dumbledore) got a whiff of the Dark Lord's previous location and ordered a raid. Fortunately, Voldemort had been re-located to a more secure location before the aurors burst through the door. Unfortunately, that secure location had been in the north of Russia in one of the strongest, most impenetrable Death Eater headquarters in all of Europe. A frozen-over hell was not an exaggeration in regards to ambience. The region had been reserved for "sanctuaries" to which Russian political criminals were sent. The last of the muggles had deserted the premises about thirty years ago when the cold became too unbearable. Even wizards dared not brave the harsh winters that were terrible enough during the summer seasons. Only a few of the sturdiest trees with the thickest trunks thrived where he stood, and they were discouragingly bare of any sort of greenery.

Death Eaters that needed refuge from the Ministry officials after performing a particularly dangerous mission were stationed here for an amount of time until they were forgotten and were able to be put back into action. To the rest of the world, they simply vanished into thin air; spells and curses were cast upon the castle to keep it from being easily found, and northern Russia was indeed a vast, difficult terrain to conquer. To this day, the prison remained unknown to everyone outside the Death Eater fellowship, though thirty years of neglect hardly made it a refuge anymore even for the most desperate of refugees. Indeed, it resembled more of a graveyard of frozen stone and whistling wind.

The inside of the fortress as well was as barren as the outside. Stone floors, stonewalls. The ceilings were curved in a style resembling Gothic Revival architecture with wooden supports built solidly into them. The door closed. It was dark inside. The cold, however, bit less fiercely. Emiliano unwrapped the muffler from his face and turned toward the port keeper as soon as the torches flickered on by themselves.

"He will grant an audience, but only for a short time. He is weakened from the cold, and your little _insider_ --" he spat the word as if spitting mud out of his mouth, "--has not been delivering what your family has promised."

Emiliano snarled but held back his angry retort. His voice was serene and light, tinged slightly with an Italian accent. His eyes burned like coals. "I am here to speak with the Dark Lord, not to tally worthless words with petulant fool of a doorman."

The port keeper drew back his hood to reveal the face of Lucius Malfoy. Emiliano's eyes widened and on impulse grabbed for his wand. Lucius Malfoy, however, coldly watched every move. His own hand was inside of his robe pocket, fingers slowly curling around the frigid wood.

"Temper, temper, Zabini," said Lucius slowly, wisps of white escaping his thin lips. "I'm not here for a fight, but I'd be happy to engage you in a duel after your little meeting with the Dark Lord."

"Oh, why not now, backstabbing trash?" hissed Emiliano, eyes narrowing until they were nothing but slits. "Need time to run back to your little manor and tip the point of your sword with your vile poisons?"

A smirk. "I do what I must to win, though I could easily flatten the likes of you with one little enchantment."

"Obviously that wasn't the case with your son's sudden promotion in our revered Death Eater ranks." Emiliano's lips curled with distaste, his white teeth gleaming with the torchlight. "Who did you have to bribe, Malfoy? How many threats did you deal out?

The smirk fell slightly. Lucius's voice, once darkened with irony and sarcastic humor, suddenly grew flat. "Draco has earned the Dark Lord's favor through his own actions, not mine. He is the better, he is the best. I have raised him to act as his best, and he has learned enough to be able to accept what the Dark Lord has bestowed upon him."

Emiliano's voice grew colder. "The Zabinis were meant to head the next era."

Lucius's pale eyes glimmered with hidden laughter. "Things are not always as they seem, now, are they?"

Tendrils of anger slowly coiled within Emiliano's heart. All of the frustration dealt to him and his family threatened to surface once more in his mind. He, however, let his wand fall back into the depths of his pocket and took his hand out. Lucius did as well, though very cautiously lest Emiliano were playing a trick though Lucius didn't suspect he was. The Zabinis were a people bound to their own twisted code of honor more than anything else.

"As I have said before, I am here to speak with the Dark Lord, not tally worthless words with petulant fool of a doorman," Emiliano bit out.

Lucius Malfoy bowed mockingly and motioned toward a darkened corridor with an outstretched arm.

Emiliano walked away wordlessly.

"He's in a foul mood, Zabini. Tell your cousin Blaise to keep his head on the task at hand and to watch where he shoots off his mouth about the Dark Lord next time. The Dark Lord is very displeased with Zabini inability to fulfill his desires," Lucius called out.

Emilano whirled around and threw himself at Lucius only to be struck in the chest by something that felt like a thousand little pinpricks of ice. He screamed and fell back down to the ground, hands digging into his clothes for his dagger. Lucius, however, was quick and placed a binding spell on the man, watching impassively as blood dripped down onto the floor from the man's chest.

"Your skill is slipping, Emiliano. Years before you would have never even turned around and blocked my spell with one hand. What has happened to the cold-blooded assassin that killed without even a flinch?"

Emiliano looked up at the wood-framed ceiling, his jaw clamped shut from moaning.

Lucius stared always piteously down at his fallen opponent. "Is that woman truly worth so much that you've lost the skill to guard your own life?" The man's fists clenched.

Without another word, Lucius unbound Zabini and walked out of the door and into the freezing cold. Emiliano stared after him, getting up slowly and wincing slightly as he picked out the shards of ice sticking to his coat. He left the others -- they would melt quickly enough. That Lucius Malfoy. His heart was colder than the blizzard wind.

His eyes trailed down the darkened hallway. The path that led to Voldemort. What was Lucius Malfoy doing here? Surely not to act the part of an insignificant port keeper. Pettigrew was notorious for such menial tasks, but a Malfoy? Another conference with Voldemort, then, in his attempt to dig up a piece of information?

Malfoy was planning something, with or without the Dark Lord's knowledge. It was painfully obvious in Emilino's eyes: the way Malfoy's characteristic arrogance gave way to quiet pondering; the way his eyes shifted increasingly over his shoulder; the way his previous blasé, know-all demeanor now demanded to absorb every bit of information regarding everything in the Death Eater world.

Emiliano was sure of it, though it was based more on feeling and until he had solid proof to show his Dark Lord, he had to keep to the shadows.

Until then…

Emiliano walked down the darkened path. Though only just barely thirty, he had lived the life of a war-veteran of a thousand battles that endured not only open warfare but discreet espionage. Intrigues, murders, blackmail -- those were not new to him, a member of the backwater Zabinis who operated in stealth unlike the main members of the family who put on a good face to the public by acting as upstanding politicians and corporate businessmen. Nothing surprised him anymore until he saw her walking down the streets of Florence, shopping basket in one hand and waving for a cab with the other.

A woman of an ordinary face. A woman of an ordinary demeanor. Emiliano could not ask for more except that she be safe. But she wouldn't be, if Lucius Malfoy knew about her.

Lucius Malfoy and his son had to be put in their place: mangled bodies stuffed in the dirty London sewers, giving way to rot through rain and shit. Not only for the safety of his woman, but also for the pride of the Zabinis.

Kill two birds with one stone.

Emiliano smiled. That had a nice ring to it.

**X**

Lucius walked calmly out of the building, but rushed out of the ring of anti-apparition charms that circled the prison perimeters. Without wasting a single second, he waved his wand and found himself in the Malfoy manor. Lucius cursed as he tore off all his heavy winter wear. He made a new enemy today -- Emiliano Zabini, the famous assassin whom the Ministry officials never detected. This made his task a few times more difficult. Emiliano was no fool, and he by now surely expected something out of Lucius; perhaps not as serious as betrayal but close enough.

His meeting with Voldemort had proved more than fruitful. It gave him all the incentive he needed to act upon his own.

Lucius immediately owled his finance attorneys for a discreet, emergency meeting. They would arrive tomorrow morning. Lucius hesitated with his second owl. Was it right to use Draco like this? He denied holding any affection for the child, but still -- Draco was his blood and flesh. Lucius closed his eyes for a few seconds, the quill in his hand quivering from his fierce grip. Narcissa would never forgive him.

But he had achieved too much, gone too far, risked too much to wither from a bout of righteousness. After all, as he said to Emiliano, he does what he must to win.

His lips set in a firm line, Lucius Malfoy signed "father" at the end of the letter and attached it to his most trusted owl. The letter needed to get to Draco.

As Lucius watched the grand bird fly off into the night sky, his eyes glittered. He did not deserve the title, "father." Whatever he did that night afterwards was a blur, and all he could remember was that the ache in his heart had not faded one bit for the longest time.

**-x-x-**

Wrinkled sheets coiled about Hermione's leg like taut snakes. Her face was crinkled, as if in concentration, though her eyes were definitely closed. Hermione was sleeping, though not very easily. She tossed and turned in her bed, her body restless and her mind forcibly trapped in the black haze of sleep. An active mind with no outlet for six hours did not encourage rest and relaxation; it would be as if she had never slept in the morning when she got up.

Half-dreams with a blend of memories and probability played continuously in front of her mind's eye, exhausting her mentally. Voldemort rose from his seat, cackling, and Hermione found herself trembling under his gaze. She had to be brave. She had to spit in evil's face. She was a Gryffindor -- she had to uphold that honor.

Easier said than done. It was Voldemort, once Tom Riddle, a genius of cruel cunning and dark pleasures.

His hood was drawn and his face black with shadows. Only two red pinpricks that were eyes glowed and made the darkness only seem darker. Hermione wanted to run, but when she tried to stand, a searing pain raced up through her veins and she found her shins wrapped with layers and layers of thorny rose vines. Her fingers brushed against something soft and found bits of rose petals burrowing under her nails and staining the tips of her fingers red.

The roses, brightly crimson and in full bloom, were a beautiful sight, though very out of place in this hideous, freezing dungeon. Voldemort laughed. His voice was shrill and almost painful to the ears.

The tips of her toes seared with a pain as cold as ice. Hermione flipped on her belly, her screaming broken by sobs. She reached out arm after arm, digging her fingernails into the cold stone floor and trying to pull herself away from Voldemort by the strength of her upper body.

The icy pain slowly veined its way up through her legs, immobilizing her ankles and slowly creeping up to her shins.

_Yes, crawl away like the little slug you are_, snarled Voldemort, his black coats flaring up behind him with the shrill winter gust. _Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood…_

Hermione clawed at the floor, heart throbbing in her chest. The whole earth seemed to twist and churn. Hermione's head spun and pounded as if someone were drumming her cranium with the blunt side of a hammer. The cold that originated from her toes soaked through the muscles of her shins and twisted around the tendons of her knees. The shrill laughing still echoed about the dank dungeon, though seeming to get higher and higher in pitch. It was unbearable.

SHE HAD TO GET OUT. _NOW_.

A sudden explosion of pain near her temples sent shockwaves through out her body, followed by something warm and liquidy running down the sides of her face. Hermione traced the shattered tips of her fingernail across the base of her ear and froze, eyes wide and face pallid, as she pulled her hand back. Steamy red liquid covered her fingertips. Her left ear…

The ear drum… Had it burst?

No. No. Had. To. Escape.

This maniac. This world. This dirty blood.

Get _rid_ of this _**dirty** blood_.

The pain in her head amplified. The cold reached her thighs and her legs refused to move. They got heavier as if they were lead, and pulling herself away was almost an impossibility. Exhausted and drumming with pain, she flipped over onto her back. It was too late to save herself.

Like a giant bat, Voldemort swooped down and slammed both fists but mere centimeters from each cheek. The tendrils of his shredded black cloak grazed back-and-forth over her face.

"Far too late for this nonsense, isn't it, Mudblood?"

His voice was ice. His tone was patronizing, mocking.

Hermione screamed an thrashed her head back and forth, hands desperately clutching her chest. The cold reached her stomach and hastened to her heart. "Please," she gasped, her voice shaking. "Please, let me go. _Please_…" The cold -- it hurt her so much.

One of his gloved fingers grazed across her cheek. Hermione whimpered and turned her face, though that did not discourage the Dark Lord from getting what he wanted: her fear of him.

"Cowardly mudblood," he whispered into the bleeding ear, his tongue sickly sliding out from between his lips to brush against the thick red liquid oozing out of the side of her head.

The cold had already passed her heart. Hermione couldn't breathe anymore. Her neck lost all strength to move. Her throat hurt too much for her to make a sound. Cold tears leaked out from Hermione's white eyelids. Her eyes were wide-open, glassy, and shiny, like that of a doll's.

It's what she was in this game. A doll -- a cute-looking thing with which to be played then put back away when the child got tired of it. Though Hermione wondered briefly as she was awakened by his hand whose doll she was in the end: was she Draco's playmate, as she had always suspected, or was she a part of a bigger game? (_Voldemort_, her mind whispered continuously.)

"_Hermione_."

His voice sounded like something from a dream, but so did the two-syllable word that haunted her life ever since she found herself blessed (_cursed_; again her damnably rebellious mind) with the magic.

"_MUDBLOOD…_"

"Wake up. Wake up."

The darkness cleared, as if a fog was lifting, and Hermione's lids drew back. The hand on her shoulder retreated, shocked by the look in her glassy, doll-like eyes.

Pale face, rosy lips, thickened lashes, glass eyes.

A beautiful, too-real doll that called only for and from nightmares.

"Granger," the intruder whispered.

The eerily doll-look was gone from her face with a blink of an eye. The color rushed backed quickly to her cheeks and her hand rose to rub against her sleep-heavy eyes. She looked up questioningly, her hand automatically reaching for her wand on the stand. It was three in the morning. She hadn't given anyone her new access passwords to her private quarters. Her heart pounded in her chest as her fingertips grazed the wood her wand.

"Granger, it's me."

That voice. Hermione narrowed her eyes, noticing for the first time how dark everything was. Her curtains were closed, and only darkness lingered in the room, a darkness similar to that of her sleep. His shadows moved toward her bed. _His_.

Hermione sat up. "What are you doing here?" she hissed quietly, the sleep wiped from her face.

"_Lumos_."

The light almost hurt, even though it was from the tip of a wand. Hermione cringed a bit. His hair, fair and almost silver, reflected the light back into her eyes.

But the look on his face caused Hermione to keep silent. Her heart thumped wildly in her chest, and she felt her whole body grow limp. Her voice was low and controlled and tight, as if on the verge of snapping from being pulled too tight. "Malfoy, what's going on?"

He handed her a piece of paper. Hermione took it and without any sort of precaution (it could have been a nasty enchantment that would bewitch her as she read or worse, it could have exploded on her face) opened it and read it.

Her chest tightened. She closed her eyes slightly, folding the paper carefully along the creases.

"When did you get this?"

"Tonight," he answered quietly.

"Why do they call you?"

"They don't need to give me a reason."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach. Her fists tightened around the letter, crumpling the paper into a little ball. The first thing she felt was coldness. Then the heat.

"But you _can't_ go!" Hermione cried suddenly, whipping the covers off of her and getting out of the bed. "You can't! They can't make you! You need to stay in Hogwarts!"

"It's not what they want," said Draco quietly.

Hermione's heart throbbed with anger and despair. The utter defeat in his voice. The slump of his shoulders. The monotone voice. Draco was always proud, arrogant, and confident, possibly even to the point of fault. But he shouldn't have changed like this. Not like this.

"Oh God," Hermione moaned, her voice breaking as heat drowned her eyes. "It's unfair. They are such beasts. It's so unfair."

Draco tried to manage a small smile. "It's what I agreed to: to be at their side when they should call." He reached out a hand to brush back Hermione's hair. "Don't be upset. It wasn't as if I didn't expect something like this. They don't care about me --"

Without warning, Hermione jumped into Draco's arms, her eyes squeezed tightly together. She tightened her arms around his chest. "_I_ care about you," she said, voice shaky and forced. "Please. _Please_. Don't go. Please don't go."

His arms tightened around her shaking body, but he didn't respond, which only made Hermione more desperate.

"Please," she whispered, clenching the fabric of his night-shirt. "Please, don't go."

Draco's eyes were dull. The muscles of his face were lax. He gently pulled Hermione from his body and stared deeply into her eyes.

"My heart," he began quietly, "belongs to you. But…everything else belongs to _them_."

He kissed her on the forehead. Hermione, her teeth clenched, pushed him away.

Draco did not argue as she backed away from him, her eyes flaring and her chest heaving. "I'm sorry you had to waste your time on me… Someone who can never be there for you… Someone who can't even properly protect you from…his own self."

Then he turned and walked out of the room.

Hermione stared after him, her gaze furious and her heart hot. Her tightly pursed lips began to tremble, and as hot tears rolled down her cheeks, she climbed back into bed and wept quietly and angrily.

**X**

_Draco, _

_This letter must be brief, for I am not certain in whose hands it will fall. The notification  
for the members to regroup has been sent. He is waiting for us. He is waiting for you. _

_He calls for you. Will you answer Him? Will you answer us? _

_Signed,   
Father_

* * *

**Chapter 22 Featured Songs!**

"Trouble" by Coldplay  
"Ghost of You" by Chemical Romance

* * *

**End Notes**: All I seem to be doing is apologizing for late updates! But once again, I'm sorry for the delay. It's just that real life has been butting in a lot… And as you all may have noticed, I do have a lot of things going on in my life right now. Hopefully, the next chapter will come out more quickly. I'm sorry -- I'm not a good updater. But a huge thanks to all of your wonderful support. You guys mean the world to me! 


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